


The Way We Fall Apart

by Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: M/M, Season 5 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 12:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 64,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee/pseuds/Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee
Summary: Two days. It had been two days since he had woken up here, two days of torture, of Chase verbally prodding him. He wasn’t dumb enough to think that two days was a long time. He had suffered longer in the past, and he knew it would only get worse.The cold cement underneath him gradually stole away any warmth inside of him. His body, suffering from the sudden lack of nourishment, was growing weaker, his shoulder seeped blood, the red liquid oozing from the black dirt that had already collected in the torn skin despite his best efforts to keep it clean. The wound would get infected, that was inevitable. He looked down at his hands, giving another futile attempt to open the cuffs.It had only been two days. He would get out of here, he would survive.





	1. Prologue

_May, 2014 Starling City_

The streets were filled with blood and fire, screams echoed through the cold air, the desperate voices of the innocents who ran from the horrors around them. Hundreds of black masked figures stumbled about the city, wreaking havoc as they destroyed everything in their path. The disguises over their faces were horrible and grotesque, resembling a cracked, black skull, skinless mouth stretched wide in some sort of smile. It was as if this army belonged to Death himself, his secret weapon, his _miracle._

Over it all, Sebastian Blood stood by the large glass window of the Queen Consolidated building, surveying the damage with content. He had made a promise to Starling, but for the city to be reborn as a great metropolis, it must first be cleansed by fire. Wasn’t that the words of the Bible? Sins washed clean by holy flame, the nonbelievers struck down by the angel of death. And he was the Messiah, he was God. There was only one problem…

_Abandoned Queen Consolidated Foundry, the Glades_

Felicity Smoak typed frantically on her keyboard, her eyes scanning the screen. She felt useless, she longed for something to do. Not that she really _wanted_ to be out in those hellish streets. But listening to the few noises that drifted in through coms, or watching the battle from her screens seemed to make her so helpless to actually help her friends.

Her fingers stilled, waiting for something to do as her mind wandered over the past months. Oliver had been more racked up than she had ever seen him ever since they had figured out this was Mirakuru, the drug he had apparently seen before on the island.

He hadn’t told them _who_ he had seen it in, but after seeing him so determined to get Roy through it, they had all immediately known it was someone who had meant a lot. Sara knew, but for Oliver’s sake, she kept quiet. The only time Felicity had heard her admit to knowing was when they had been arguing about Roy.

“Saving Roy won’t bring _him_ back!” She had snapped, and it was only later that night that Felicity had realized the _him_ she had referred to wasn’t Roy Harper.

She had been so sure they were going to lose, Blood had planned for everything, he took full control of QC with the help of Isabel Rochev, created an army of almost indestructible super soldiers. An army that for too long they had been unable to fight against.

They had tried taking a blood sample from Roy to find a cure, but it was impossible, Star Labs had told them it was not enough information, they needed a direct sample of the serum. And they would never get that.

Until they did. The small green vial had appeared on the table in the Lair one day, sitting next to Felicity’s computers as innocent as a colored drink. From that sample, a cure had been found, and now, Team Arrow, together with Sara, her beloved Nyssa and several highly skilled assassins, they would be able to save the city.

Even as she watched her screens, Oliver peeled off from the others to find Blood, shooting any miracle soldier in his way with a vial full of the cure. They were going to win, to survive, all because of some unnamed Samaritan.


	2. All Light Fades

Two days. It had been two days since he had woken up here, two days of torture, of Chase verbally prodding him. He wasn’t dumb enough to think that two days was a long time. He had suffered longer in the past, and he knew it would only get worse.

The cold cement underneath him gradually stole away any warmth inside of him. His body, suffering from the sudden lack of nourishments, was growing weaker, his shoulder seeped blood, the red liquid oozing from the black dirt that had already collected in the torn skin despite his best efforts to keep it clean. The wound would get infected, that was inevitable. He looked down at his hands, giving another futile attempt to open the cuffs.

It had only been two days. He would get out of here, he would survive.

**XxxX**

“It’s been two days, and we still have no idea where Chase took him,” Felicity Smoak spun around in her chair, removing her eyes from the computer screen for the first time in almost nine hours. “How many places could he be?” Curtis Holt, sitting nearby, didn’t look up from his own screen, scanning the display slowly.

“Apparently, a lot,” he answered, then glanced up at her expression. “Which I didn’t have to say, because that was rhetorical.” Felicity sighed, sinking her face into her palms and trying to rub away the tiredness. Her eyes felt as though someone had rubbed sand into them, and she wanted nothing more but to go find someone quiet and sleep. She’d been up for over forty-eight hours.

The elevator doors slid open, and both of them looked up, hope flaring. John Diggle and Dinah Drake stepped out, their expressions successfully crushing any brief optimism that might have occurred. Diggle dropped his helmet onto a table unceremoniously, stepping onto the dais to join Curtis and Felicity.

“Doesn’t look like you two did any better,” Dinah said, sitting down. Curtis shook his head, slowly turning back to the computers. John looked over Felicity’s shoulder, not understanding much of the data shown there, but studying it nonetheless. The buzz of a text message notification interrupted the silence.

“It’s Thea,” John said, taking out his phone and studying the short note. “She’s on her way, plans on getting here tomorrow morning.” He sent affirmation that he received the message, turning away to go out on yet another search, wishing he could have said her brother was safe.

**XxxX**

The familiar creak of the barred door opening roused Oliver out of the light sleep he had drifted off into. He sat up immediately. The process of getting his legs underneath him and standing was more of a struggle than it had been in the past. But he was soon on his feet, watching Chase as the man closed the door behind him, moving with exaggerated care.

He walked closer, and Oliver couldn’t fight the sudden tension, body going ridged as his enemy approached. He still wore that self-satisfied expression, the same one Oliver had seen every time he came in, it was as if Chase thought he had already won.

He stopped too far away from Oliver to attack, hands in his pockets. The archer’s brow furrowed, he could tell the man was holding something, but the shape of it was indeterminable. Oliver faced him, resolute to show no weakness.

“Ready to confess?” Adrian inquired, he spoke with a light joviality that prickled Oliver in an unnerving way. He tried to tell himself he had faced worse, but the truth was, Chase had a dangerous type of psychotic unpredictability that Oliver had only seen once before. The mere thought of that time brought a sudden stab of nonphysical pain.

 _This isn’t the same_. He thought, pushing the unwelcome memories away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Oliver snapped, he was getting tired of Chase’s games. The man held up both hands, open, in an expression of surrender, appearing unbothered by the Oliver’s manner.

“That’s fine,” his voice took on a reassuring tone, as if Oliver had made some sort of apology. The archer’s fists clenched, his anger building. “Don’t rush yourself, we have a lot of time.” He started pacing around, and Oliver forced himself to not follow him, refusing to show even a glimpse of apprehension. But he couldn’t deny the sharp clench inside as Chase passed out of sight behind him.

“They will find me,” Oliver said, certainty strong in his voice. It was the mantra he had been repeating to himself for the past two days. “How long do you really think this’ll last?” he tried to put a note of dismissiveness in his tone, but wasn’t sure if he managed. Chase came back into view, Oliver’s words not even chipping his arrogance.

“Are you planning some daring escape?” he asked, voice tinged with mockery. Oliver’s only response was to glare at him. Chase chuckled, a short, quiet sound, that carried just as much force as if he had collapsed to the floor laughing. If he came any closer, Oliver knew he could attack, it would be awkward, but if he timed it right…he was surprised when the man actually did take a step forward, as if he could read the archer’s mind. “I hear your sister’s on her way, she’s probably hoping to see you, maybe I should bring her in for a visit.”

Oliver lunged. He had misjudged the space, or rather, Chase had judged it perfectly. The chains snapped tight, his arms wrenched behind him. He was a scarce inch away from Adrian, but already off balance, weight forward, he had no way of closing the distance, short as it was.

Chase looked delighted, and Oliver realized he had done exactly what the man had wanted him to do, with an inexcusably small amount of prompting. And yet, he couldn’t push down the wish that Chase would take just one more step forward, one small move and Oliver could…the sudden understanding of what he was about to do washed over him like cold water.

He _wanted_ to kill Chase, to make him suffer a slow, agonizing death. But worse, he would do it. He would cave in to the urge. The self-control, the moralities he had built up for himself during his time as a vigilante were slowly crumpling. Before even three days had passed, Chase had managed to nudge him back into the mindset that Oliver had struggled out of. Or had he? Maybe Oliver had simply never progressed past that. He took several steps back.

Chase watched him, daring the archer to try again, to make any move. “When are you going to see, Oliver?” Adrian asked, his voice growing quieter. “That I’m not the real danger to your friends, I never was. It was always you.” Immediately, Oliver’s eyes snapped back around, the denial forming even before the statement was finished.

“You are a psychopath,” he snapped, almost yelling. “You murdered innocent people, your own _wife_. And you think _I’m_ the one endangering them?” The absurdity of the statement pushed away previous doubt, giving Oliver a stronger stance against his enemy.

“Why not?” Chase asked, moving closer “Think about everyone who’s died because of you, Tommy, Sara and Thea, even if they came back, Laurel-” Oliver fought down a retaliation to the words. “Dear mother Moira-” His self-control snapped and the archer lunged forward. The few steps Chase had taken put him within a dangerous range, and in that moment, not caring about the consequences, Oliver’s punch slammed into jaw, knocking him back. Chase landed on the ground, out of range now, and the archer fought against the restraints furiously.

Calmly, Adrian lifted a hand to his mouth, wiping away the small streak of blood as he stood, disconcertingly unfazed. “Don’t like to think about it?” he asked. “That’s just three. Don’t forget everyone else before you came back. Shado, Taiana, her brother. Akio. I can keep going.”

“Stop,” Oliver snarled out the word, no longer caring about the infernal smirk that appeared again. There were explanations for each of those deaths, part of him reasoned. But reality whispered something different. _They wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for you._

“Do you know why?” he asked, starting his pacing once again. “Ever since you came back, you’ve had this goal, to save Starling City from the corrupted.” He paused. “Remind me again, how many disasters have happened because of you? The whole thing is rather counterproductive. And when you keep throwing your friends and family to the wolves just to achieve your objective…” he shrugged, as if no further explanation was necessary. “They’re not as important as your mission.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver responded weakly.

“You don’t make friends,” Chase said. “It’s funny actually, how much you use people without them realizing. John Diggle, Felicity Smoak, even the new recruits. The only reason you went to them was because they were _useful_ …and in your opinion, _expendable_.”

Doubt gnawed inside him, chewing through the walls of certainty he had built. It was like waters pressing in on him, trying to flood him, slowly seeping through the holes.

“I think we’ve gone over enough today,” Chase said, as if he were some sort of instructor and Oliver the pupil. “I’ll leave you to think about it.” He turned, walking to the door typing in the combination. The lock buzzed as it opened, and Oliver stared after his form. He stopped, as if he had suddenly remembered something and turned around once again. “Oh, and to make sure you don’t leave before we’re finished…”

He should have responded quicker. He saw the small handgun gleam in the light, his mind registered its meaning quickly, but he didn’t move, even when he heard the bark of several shots being fired. White hot pain exploded in his leg two of the bullets slammed in; one in his lower leg, the other just above his knee. He crumbled, leg unable to hold his weight, and the final bullet, instead of hitting his knee, punched its way through the skin in his hip.

It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming aloud in agony. Oliver curled over, head almost touching the floor as he forced deep breaths in and out. He heard the door shut as Chase finally left him alone, and the archer let his breath in a quiet hiss. He would get out, he would survive.  The words were exhausting to even think.

**XxxX**

Thea arrived a couple hours before noon, the dark marks under her eyes betraying how her travel had gone. She walked into the lair, arms held across her chest, expression holding only the faintest glimmer of hope, one that was quickly crushed as she saw Felicity and Curtis’s hunched over positions. Diggle, who had taken on the task of checking every gun within the lair as an attempt to distract himself, came over to talk to her.

“Nothing?” she asked immediately, John shook his head and her shoulders slumped.

“Why don’t you drop yourself somewhere?” he prompted. “It looks like you could get some sleep.” Her look was reproachful. “There’s nothing you can do right now,” John pointed out and she nodded, the gesture small and reluctant.

“I um, I usually stayed with Oliver,” Thea pointed out, she saw Diggle drawing breath to speak and intervened before he could make he offer. “I still have a key,” she said quickly, turning on her heel, a thought struck her and she paused. “What did you tell the city?” John shrugged.

“No one’s started to ask yet, they’ve noticed, especially at City Hall, but we’re trying to avoid that question.” He admitted.

“Okay,” she saw the sense in it, Oliver’s disappearance wouldn’t simply cause panic and raise theories. “I’m going to get settled in,” she added, this time, not pausing as she crossed back to the elevator, entering as the doors opened.

The silence as it moved upward was almost comforting, Thea couldn’t fend off the guilt that had been nagging at her since she heard of her brother’s abducting. It was ridiculous, she knew, but deep down, she felt if she had been here, somehow, she could have stopped it from happening.

The doors opened as the elevator reached the upper floor, and she stepped off, heels clipping on the wood paneled floor as she wove around desks on her way to the door. Outside, she had parked across the street, not wanting to draw attention to the supposedly shut down campaign office. Glancing to her left and right, she stepped out, walking across quickly. There was rarely traffic in this area, one of the reason’s Oliver had picked it.

She unlocked her car and slid in, turning on the ignition and pulling away mechanically. The drive felt uncomfortably short despite her slow speed. It was too early for rush hour, and hoping to add time, she avoided the shortcuts, having to make her way through the traffic that was still present.

But some minutes later, she still arrived, and pulled her small, hastily packed bag from the back seat, looking up at the apartment complex. She wasn’t sure how many cities had a mayor that lived in a studio apartment, nice as it was, barely more than a five-minute walk to City Hall. Trying to smile at the thought, she unlocked the front door, stepping through and made her way to the stairs. Suitcase or no, she wasn’t in the mood for running into people in the elevator.

Thea almost counted the steps on her way up, pausing at each landing and adjusting her grip on her bag, even when it didn’t need adjusting. Unavoidably, she reached fourth floor, and clipped through the hallway, stopping outside the frosted glass door and pressing her key into the lock.

It clicked as she turned it and opened the door, pausing to remove her key and carefully letting the glass fall shut. Looking down at her jacket, she moved towards the couch she knew was there, reaching out to set it on the arm. A sudden wisp of cold air hit her, and Thea shivered, the early spring was still chilly. It suddenly occurred to her that she was inside, and she glanced towards the window.

The jacket fell from numb fingers, dropping forgotten to the floor as she stared at the shattered glass. Moving slowly, she walked around the couch, stopping to stare at the destruction. Dark drops of liquid mingled with the shards of broken glass, and in several different locations there were puddles, the red hue evident even against the dark floor. A green arrow protruded from the end of the couch, stuck low, and another lay by the window, broken off before the head.

Fighting down the threatening wave of hysterics, Thea snatched her phone out of her pocket, breaths coming quicker as she punched in a number. “John! John!” the phone was still ringing when she half shouted the name into it. “No, no, no, no.” She whispered the words, panic building. “Pick up, please, John!” her voice had risen to a shout, and she barely even registered it. The phone, however, went to voicemail and she had to resist the urge to throw it across the room. This time, she called Felicity, pacing around the room and frantically twisting her sleeves. Was this a warning, a threat? She didn’t know.

Finally, Felicity’s voice answered, sounding tired. “Hello?” she was distracted, her tone making it obvious she didn’t appreciate the sudden call. Thea swallowed, taking a moment to try to calm herself. It was unproductive, her sleeve tore under her pulling.

“There’s blood,” she said, voice fast. “And the window’s broken and arrows and…” she choked off. “Oh, god, there’s a lot of blood. There’s so much blood.” She pressed a hand against her mouth, fist clenched. A moment later, it was John’s voice came on.

“Thea? Where are you? What’s going on?”

“The apartment,” she managed, forcing herself to calm down. “The window’s broken, an-and it looks like there was a fight.”

“We’ll be right there,” he promised. “Just stay there..” The line clicked and she stood there, nodding to herself, they’d be here soon, they could figure out what was going on. She pressed the phone back into her pocket, hand shaking as she slowly sank down to sit on the couch.

It took too long for the clatter of someone at the door to finally come. Thea jumped up, rushing to open it and letting Diggle, Felicity and Curtis through. They all looked around immediately, expressions grim as they took in the scene.

“Oh my god,” Felicity whispered. Diggle looked through the window, glancing down at the ground far below. “Should we report this?”

“We have to,” Curtis said immediately. “What if someone heard the window break or starts asking to see this place?” Thea shook her head mutely, not finding any words and Diggle looked at her, concern etched on his face.

“I’m calling the police,” Felicity announced, pulling her phone out, no one moved to stop her, all lost at how to take this advancement. She dialed the number, voice shaking as she reported the incident. Curtis, pulling a cotton swab out of his pocket, walked up to a puddle of blood, kneeling and pressing the cotton to it. He came away, dropping the swab into a small sealable plastic bag and slipping it back into his jacket. “They want us to wait here,” the bottle-blonde said, her call ended. Diggle nodded, staring at the destruction.

**XxxX**

Oliver couldn’t stand. If he had something to lean on, or support his weight, he might have been able to drag himself up. But now, even kneeling was painful. The agony didn’t allow him restful sleep, he slept in segments, uncertain of how long each lasted.

As he jerked into consciousness again, Oliver realized he didn’t know how much time had passed. Had it been an hour? No, much longer.  Or had it? Maybe Chase had just shot him, maybe that had only been a few minutes ago. Did it matter? Eyes falling shut, he dropped into a light sleep yet again.

Stinging agony roused him, and the feeling of water pouring against his chest and shoulder. The first cry of pain escaped him before Oliver could stop it, and he came to an unsteady wakefulness, trying to move away from the liquid. His shoulder was alight with pain, his nerves burning under the sensation, breathes ragged as he moved to his knees. His leg throbbed from the sudden movement and pressure it was now under.

Chase watched him a sickening amusement, an empty water pitcher dangling from one hand. Oliver’s eyes flickered between the container and his enemy, refusing to voice any inquiries. The searing sting was still there, maybe less intense, but still excruciating. Chase set the pitcher aside.

“Wouldn’t want you losing an arm,” he said casually.

 _Salt water_. Oliver realized dully. It was salt water, some of the small crystals hadn’t dissolved, and were clinging to the broken flesh of the arrow wound. It was a natural antibacterial, fighting against the risk of an infection. As useful as it seemed, the overwhelming pain it caused often outweighed any practical qualities.

He breathed in and out, setting a rhythmic pattern to focus on. He kept his eyes focused on the door, knowing he couldn’t look towards Chase. He heard the soft _clip_ of the man’s shoes as Adrian paced around him, he paused suddenly, hands clasped together.

“Thea’s plane arrived safely,” he said conversationally. Oliver stared at him, trying to gauge where the sentence was leading to. But his enemy merely continued in the same casual tone. “Long trip, she must be tired.” Oliver looked back at the floor, too fatigued to respond.

He no longer knew how long he had been there, and now, he wasn’t sure how much he cared.

**XxxX**

“So now we just sit back and let the whole city think that Green Arrow killed or kidnapped Oliver Queen!” Rene’s loud voice rang with incredulity frustration evident. Quentin shot him a warning look, hyperaware of the people walking just outside of the frosted glass door.

“There has to be something,” Curtis said, voice devoid of much hope.

“None of us are happy about the direction this is going in, Rene,” John put in with frustrated resignation. “But we can’t just make an announcement to deny it, we have no viable excuse.” They were clustered in Quentin’s office, facing the aftermath of the broadcast that morning. Rene paced in small restless circles while John stood, cross armed, by the door, leaning against the wall. Quentin was buried in papers, seeming to ignore the lot of them. Felicity and Curtis were both in chairs, the former sagged down in her seat and slowly turning herself back and forth. Thea sat a little apart, on the top of the desk, staring blankly into space.

The news that the Green Arrow had broken into the mayor’s apartment and vanished with him had spread through the city like wildfire. The press flocked to city hall like sharks to blood, clamoring for answers that no one could give.

Shut away from the havoc, there was little struggle to think of any solutions now, it had been an unexpected move on Chase’s part, and no one was sure on how to react.

“That son of a bitch is mocking us,” Lance snapped suddenly. “By offering the perfect solution to explaining Oliver’s absence which just makes everything worse.” Several of them gave him surprised looks, the outburst causing surprise. He had made it through the past few days as one of the calmer ones, and seeing him react so violently was disconcerting for them all.

“Okay,” Dinah spoke up from the corner. “Everyone needs rest, we can’t help Oliver like this.” There was some reluctant agreement, John most prominent.

“She’s right,” he said. “We’ll regroup the morning.” It took a few more minutes before people started standing and exiting. Thea was the last to move, hesitating until it was only her, Quentin and Rene left. The former patted her on the shoulder.

“We’ll clean up here, go get some sleep,” he said, voice quieter than before. She gave him a look, fighting back the urge to rub at her gritty eyes.

“I don’t know if I can,” she mumbled, looking away. Rene looked uncomfortable, unsure of anyways he could offer comfort and busied himself with looking at the nearest folder. She pushed herself off the desk, walking to the door without any other words.


	3. The Darkness Never Lets Go

_Arrowcave, Star City_

“I’m going to talk to Helix,” Felicity didn’t look up as she spoke, remaining focused on the computer screen. John and Curtis, the only other two in the room, paused their work, wearing matching frowns. She continued before they could interject. “They found Susan, and we’re getting nowhere with finding Oliver.”

“We had a video,” Curtis pointed out. “And Helix was able to track it. Now we don’t have anything, so what can they do that we can’t?”

“No, what _can_ we do?” Felicity argued, looking up at them. “Apparently nothing! We have no leads, no ideas, no hints that are getting us anywhere close to being able to help Oliver.”

“And how long until they figure out exactly who it is that they’re looking for?” Diggle asked. “Are you really okay with a group like that knowing Oliver’s secret?”

“Are you okay with leaving Oliver in the hands of a psychopath whose sole mission is to cause him pain? Because from where I’m standing, that’s a lot worse than the alternative.”

“And for Oliver, anyone learning the truth was a last option scenario,” Diggle replied. “So, what gives us the right to decide that now?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Felicity asked incredulously. “Chase has Oliver, and there is no telling what he is willing to do. Don’t you think we should use every resource we have to get Oliver back?”

“Helix isn’t a resource!” John sounded frustrated. “They are an unknown factor who we would be giving a weapon!” Felicity looked angry. “That is not a decision you make on your own,” Diggle continued, voice more level. “If this continues, we can consider it. But for now, we can’t afford to unmask Oliver like that.”

“Fine.” She turned back to her computer, sharp typing picking up once more. Curtis and Diggle exchanged a glance, though neither of them were about to change their opinion. The latter stepped off the dais, speaking intentionally lightly to soften someone of the sudden tension.

“I’ll go get you both some coffee.”

**XxxX**

_City Hall, Star City_

“You sure you want to work in here?” Quentin looked over to Thea as he asked the question, the young woman’s expression stony as they mounted the stairs from the first floor. She had called Lance that morning to ask if she could help out with work at City Hall.

“I’ll just get in the way in the Bunker,” she replied, sounding tired, Lance doubted she had gotten much sleep the previous night. The three of them, Rene walking some steps ahead, had come in just a few minutes earlier.

“Well I won’t say we can’t use the help,” Lance said honestly. “The paperwork has us buried, everything from this Oliver problem back to Susan William’s abduction is just adding up.” Thea made a face at that, the prospect far from appealing.

“You do need help,” she said, then curiosity took over and she added; “How is Susan, by the way?” Her relationship with her brother’s questionable-maybe-almost-who-the-hell-even-knew girlfriend was shaky to say the least. Lance shrugged.

“They’ve got her in some tight protection,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her since we first got her back.” Hopefully, the woman was recovering well from her traumatizing experience, she hadn’t spoken much after her return aside from the testimony she filed against Chase.

“What’s that supposed to do?” Thea muttered, Lance declined to reply. They reached the floor of his office, and their conversation died out as they were now around people, forced to drop their topic for fear of being overheard.

“The only good thing is how low the crime rate has fallen in the past few weeks,” Rene commented as they reached Lance’s office not sounding very heartened by the news. Quentin shook his head, pushing open the door. He stopped abruptly, the other two nearly crashed into him from behind. Lance’s hand tightened on the doorknob, knuckles turning white as Rene and Thea hurried to move around him and see what had caused such a reaction.

“It’s nice to hear you all still have so much optimism,” Adrian Chase stood by the desk, hands hooked in his pockets, posture casual. “And through such a hard time-”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Thea burst past the other two, startling both of them, Rene half expected her to pull out a knife and stab the man…not that he would have any problems with that.

“Miss Queen,” he took the interruption smoothly. “My condolences about your brother, this must be hard for you.” Thea’s fists clenched, nails digging into her palms as she glared at him, anger so concrete it almost seemed to be a physical presence.

“I’m gonna give you twelve seconds to get out before I pop a cap in your ass,” Rene threatened, stepping in front of Lance. Quentin seemed to be struggling with the common sense of handling the matter calmly and giving into his own rage.

“You’re not going to do anything,” Chase said dismissively. “Because you don’t want Oliver to suffer the consequences.” A dead silence reigned after his words, Rene could see the mix of emotions in Thea’s expression.

“So what,” Lance cut in. “You’re here to brag?”

“I’m turning in my resignation,” he said, lifting the folder. “Since the Green Arrow slaughtered my wife, I’ve just found it harder to really give this job my full attention. I guess you can say I have a couple…distractions at the moment.” He set the folder down on the desk and walked past them, headed for the door, he paused, as if a thought had struck him and turned back to them. “Oh, and Oliver sends his regards. Or I’m sure he would had he been coherent when I left.”

“You-” Thea snapped. Neither Lance nor Rene (although the latter might have made not much of an attempt to begin) were fast enough to stop her from launching herself at Chase. Quentin was after her immediately, nearly getting punched in the face for his efforts. Rene, though he did not entirely disapprove of her actions, helped, having to physically pull Thea off of the DA and drag her back several feet.

She struggled furiously, heel scraping along his shin painfully as she fought against his grip. Rene kept his head tucked down out of line of fire and focused on just holding on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance step in between Chase and Thea as the former straightened, blotting away the blood that was streaming down his face.

“I’ll be sure to pass the message along to your brother,” he said, and Rene felt Thea freeze, cautiously, he released his grip, but she didn’t make any more moves towards Chase. The man adjusted his jacket, standing in place for another minute. “Good talk.” He turned on his heel, leaving the three of them standing in the office.

**XxxX**

“You’re sure about this?” Dinah asked for the second time, looking up at the forensics officer. He looked insulted that she voiced so much doubt over his skills. “This isn’t something we can afford to make a mistake on.” She added, voice sharp. He nodded, tapping the sheets.

“I ran it through multiple times,” he said, repeating his explanation. “A blood analysis, DNA testing. That blood belonged to Oliver Queen.” She resisted the urge to close her eyes and sink into a chair, nodding briskly instead.

“Okay. I’ll pass it along to Deputy Mayor if you tell Pike,” she didn’t wait for a response, barely noticing he agreed before she was moving away, folder tucked under her arm as she pulled out her phone. She couldn’t say it was bad news, just verification of what they had all feared.

**XxxX**

She’d ended up in the corner a short time after hearing the news report and hadn’t moved since. She sat with her arms wrapped around her legs, chin on her knee, staring off into space as her mind worked furiously.

Evelyn Sharp was holed up in a small, condemned apartment complex where she hadn’t seen a living person for five days. Her isolation was self-provoked, part self-protection, part obeying the most recent orders from Chase.

In the past couple weeks, confusion and guilt had begun to spread roots inside of her mind, slowly growing the more time she spent near Chase. The more she thought about it, the more she was unable to justify her actions, the more she wanted to get out and go…anywhere. Just leave.

Five days ago, had marked her first (and only) confrontation with Chase.

_Five days prior…_

_“I’m done.” Evelyn set down her bow on the table sharply, causing Chase to look up from the shurikens he was sharpening. He was seated across the table in one of the many safehouses he kept. She didn’t even know how many of them he had set up, at random intervals, he would move, remaining virtually untraceable._

_“What?” the single word should have marked this was dangerous ground, but frankly, she was not in the mood to care. She kept that space between them, along with the table and a chair. She wasn’t stupid enough to merely march up to him and announce this._

_“I. am. Done.” Evelyn spaced each word out, she gestured around her. “With all of this. You can continue your little war against Oliver, but I’m out.” She didn’t turn her back on him, a dramatic exit wasn’t called for, and it would just open a blind spot for her, especially while he was handling those throwing stars. Carefully, Chase set the one he held into the wood of the table, its sharp point sinking into the wood without much give. He put down the sharpening block with just as much exaggerated care._

_“And you’re just going to run?” his response came after some long moments of silence, sounding unusually loud. For some reason, it caused Evelyn’s heart to thump painfully, even though there was little that should have startled her. She refused to show that weakness in front of him. Instead, she lifted her chin a little higher._

_“Don’t even try to say I don’t have anywhere to go,” she said. “I should never agreed to help you in the first place and am not going to continue to now.”_

_“Don’t forgot that was your choice,” Chase stood, taking a few steps around the table, and discreetly, her hand moved to the knife sheathed in the small of her back. “You wanted to end the crusade of the Green Arrow. You said Oliver was a hypocrite.”_

_“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t,” Evelyn replied. “That’s not the point. The point is this-” she gestured widely with her hand. “Is psychotic, and wrong. Whatever Oliver did, or what happened because of him is nothing compared to what you’ve done and are willing to do.” Chase gave a small sigh, looking off to the side as if the conversation were exasperating him._

_“And you really think you’re just going to walk away?” he asked. “After betraying the team that took you in. Because I don’t think anyone’s going to like that.” Her fingers curled over the handle of the danger, tightening. “They’re not going to let you just walk away. You’re either going to end up in prison or dead.”_

_“Believe it or not,” she ground out. “Most people aren’t like you and don’t just kill people they don’t like.”_

_“But you know everything,” Chase pressed. “And do you really think Oliver Queen is going to let some traitorous little girl with enough knowledge to take down an entire crusade should she confide in the wrong people, just walk away?”_

_“Well, that’s not your problem, is it,” she challenged._

_“And even if you’re not quietly gotten rid of in some alley,” he continued casually. “By, any number of people, you wouldn’t last very long in whatever supermax prison you end up in?”_

_“So that’s your fallback?” Evelyn scorned. “Scare me into compliance?”_

_“I haven’t even tried to scare you yet,” Chase replied calmly. She should have expected the attack, she was fast enough to block the first swing, her knife unsheathing and jabbing forward only to be masterfully twisted out of her grasp as something slammed into the side of her face, knocking her off her feet. She recovered quickly, balancing on one hand as she swung her feet underneath her and came up, moving away from Chase._

_He didn’t wait for her to stand completely, and the force with which she was shoved into the wall made her head pound as it connected painfully with the cement, sparks exploded in her vision and something pressed down on her throat, constricting her airway._

_Frantic, she kicked out as hard as she could, heel slamming into his foot. Chase, however, showed no reaction of discomfort, or reaction of any kind, instead, his hand tightened momentarily, and Evelyn’s vision swam with black spots._

_“This would be the part I scare you,” he added conversationally. The pressure didn’t let up, and she lashed out blindly, trying anything that might work. Blood rushed in her ears, and she desperately tried to recall where the knife had fallen. Before she could even think up a way to get to it, Chase stepped back. Air rushed into her lungs and Evelyn gasped quietly, relief an intense emotion flooding through her. Silver flashed in the light and she stared at the dagger that Chase was holding straight up by the blade in front of her face. “See, a lot of people are going to be unhappy if you just walk away.” Adrian said softly._

_Evelyn took the knife and left the room, remembering to snatch her bow off the tabletop._

Absentmindedly, she rubbed a finger over the hilt of her dagger at the memory. Chase had sent her orders a short time later, instructing her to lay low until she received further notice. She hadn’t left the rundown apartment since.

Then, the news broadcast had come on, about how Oliver Queen had been supposedly abducted from his home by the Green Arrow. She could figure out the truth on her own. The guilt that had started five days ago was slowly becoming harder to deal with and now, Evelyn knew that in a way, Chase was right; she couldn’t walk away, she needed to atone for what she had done.

And that would start by finding the location of all of Chase’s safehouses, and finding Oliver.

**XxxX**

_Undisclosed Location_

He had completely any track of time. Oliver’s only sense of day and night were whenever Chase showed up. The artificial fixture buzzed continuously above him, the constant light unexpectedly draining. Night was the short moments he was actually able to rest, Oliver doubted they were more than an hour at a time.

His left leg was completely useless, though Oliver had devoted time into removing the bullets, the excruciating agony of doing so without tools had seemed to only make it worse, and he was unable to remove the third from his hip.

The torture and talking continued, and by now, Oliver wasn’t sure which one was worse. Somehow, Chase seemed to know every doubt Oliver had ever had, he even planted more the archer had barely considered. The more he spoke, the more his words seemed utterly logical and right, and Oliver was running out of ways to argue against them.

His mental barriers were beginning to break, and the more they cracked, the more truth poured in, and the less Oliver tried to fight all of it. Because at the back of his mind, a nagging doubt was beginning to turn into a frightening reality.

Adrian Chase was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a little short, I am, however, happier than usual with how it turned out so I decided to not ruin that. (I promise Slade will emerge eventually)


	4. Half Truths and Lies

Evelyn had converted the small space as much as she could, sweeping things aside and spreading out several rough maps of Star City on the floor. She knew the location of three safehouses excluding the one she was in now, and she dotted them each with a green mark. The rest of it was more difficult, she circled entire areas based off of where Chase seemed to spend time, drawing crisscrossing lines across the entire map. Narrowing it down would be almost impossible, but she was determined to figure it out.

Before that, she had one more thing to take care of. Walking to her stack of weapons in the corner, Evelyn picked up the knife, unsheathing it and holding it in her left hand. Extending her right arm, she sliced along a barely visible scar, inhaling at the sting. Blood pooled after the tip of the knife, running down the side of her skin. Ignoring it, she set the knife aside, pressing underneath the jagged cut until the tip of something hard and black appeared. She pulled it out, setting it on the table and reached for supplies to bandaged it.

With the tracker out of her skin, Evelyn felt ready. She suited up, slipping out the apartment like a shadow through the back way. She ghosted through the alley, dark clothes merging with the shadows, blissfully unaware of the watcher crouched on the rooftop above her.

**XxxX**

Five days after the mayor was reported missing, Susan Williams was kidnapped from the protective custody she had been placed in. The knowledge was kept private, but in the circles that knew, panic blossomed. It seemed the Green Arrow had gone rogue, and no one knew how to take him down.

It was that day, the seventh day after Oliver’s initial disappearance, that Quentin received an unexpected visitor. Seated at his desk, he was startled by the quiet knock as the secretary peaked around the door, looking apologetic to interrupt.

“Mr. Lance, Captain Pike is here to see you,” she said. Quentin looked up, surprised. He hadn’t heard about the captain waking up from the coma Chase had put him in. Setting down the pages he had been studying he nodded, standing.

“Right, send him in,” he said quickly, and she nodded, looking back outside and stepping back to allow Frank Pike to enter. He took Lance’s proffered hand before accepting the offer of a seat and sinking down into the chair with a small grimace. “It’s good to see you walking around,” Lance said once the polite greetings were out of the way.

“I’m lucky,” Pike admitted. “I was released this morning, woke up yesterday.” He gave a meaningful look at mess cover Lance’s desk. “I’ve spent the past few hours catching up.

“You might’ve wanted to sleep a few more days,” Quentin replied grimly.

“So, Queen disappeared, you didn’t hear anything from him before he left?” he questioned, immediately falling into his role. Lance prepared his story quickly, knowing he couldn’t afford to slip up in front of Pike, the man was smart enough to catch even the smallest mistake.

“No, it took us all by surprise, he dropped out of contact,” he shrugged. “Not unusual. But when his sister stopped by to visit…” he made a rolling gesture with his hand, knowing Pike would have heard the rest of the story. The captain nodded.

“And all the evidence is pointing to the Green Arrow,” he commented, internally, Lance sighed, unfortunately, that was a lie they had to keep.

“Seems like it,” he agreed. Pike regarded him thoughtfully. “You have any thoughts or leads on this?” Lance added, a little unnerved by the suddenly focused expression on the captain’s face.

“Pinning it on the Green Arrow seems a little hasty,” Pike said. “We don’t have any motive that would explain his sudden hostility.” Quentin blinked, taken aback. “We’ll be investigating the whole matter either way,” the captain said, standing. “And I can expect your full cooperation in the matter?”

“Of course,” Lance also stood. “Thank you.” He waited until Pike was out of the office before picking up his phone to share this sudden advancement.

**XxxX**

_“Why, Oliver?” He stared as she walked closer to him, hands reaching out, her face just as he remembered it. Slowly, he reached out a hand to her. “Why did you let me die?” There was betrayal in her voice and pain. She took a step closer and collapsed, hand going to her side. Blood spilled over her fingers, and as she fell, her features changed. Brown hair darkened into black, blood spilled from her head as Oliver stared on. He dragged himself forward, trying to get to her. He drew closer, he reached out…his hand held an arrow driven through-_

“Ol-Oliver?” he jolted into wakefulness, the voice too real, too out of place in this world he was trapped in. He forced himself to his knees, staring about the small cell until his eyes settled on-

“Susan?” hoarse as his voice was, the incredulity was still audible. The brunette stared at him through hair that had fallen in front of her wide, brown eyes. Oliver ripped his gaze away, glaring furiously past her at Chase, who stood just inside the closed door, expression amused. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. The other merely smirked.

“We haven’t been making progress,” Chase said with a fake concern. “So, I thought Susan could encourage you to think a little harder.” Anger was building inside of him, an emotion that had barely swelled for some time.

“Let her go,” somehow, despite the damage done to his leg and the rest of his body, the malnutrition, dehydration, and exhaustion, Oliver managed to stand. “Don’t do this.” He didn’t care there was an underlying plea in his voice, and he hated himself for that. Chase’s lip curled at the tone, taking some sort of vindictive pleasure in the entire thing.

“You can stop all of this, Oliver,” he said. “Anytime, I’ve told you that. As soon as you confess the truth. What the island, Hong Kong, Russia, what all those places revealed.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oliver snapped, the words felt repetitive. “How many times do I have to tell you that? Let Susan go. She’s not a part of this.”

“Isn’t she?” Chase asked, looking down at the woman. It wasn’t until then that Oliver realized her hands and ankles were zip tied together, utterly reducing her movement. “Just another unfortunate piece of collateral damage? Another manipulated chess piece?” She looked in between the two of them, barely understanding the situation.

“Stop.”

“That’s your choice,” Chase replied. The silence stretched for several long minutes as he met Oliver’s gaze, Susan looked too terrified to speak, and the archer only hoped she was drugged or suffering from damage of her second abduction. Oliver was the one to look away, eyes dropping away. Chase sighed theatrically, moving forward. “I thought you might still resist.” He said. Something hard and metal dropped to the ground with a sharp clatter, the noise almost forcing Oliver to look up towards the source.

An unadorned knife lay on the dark cement floor, gleaming dully in the fluorescent lighting. Not understanding, he didn’t make any move towards it. Did Chase expect Oliver to try to attack him here? There seemed little point in such a dramatic action, the outcome of such a fight was obvious. Even with his bow and full arsenal of arrows, in his current state, the archer knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own.

“So, I guess we’re doing this the hard way,” he continued. “I’m going to leave, and before I come back, you’re going to kill Susan with that knife.”

“You’re insane,” Oliver said once he had found the words. There was no trace of falsehood in Chase’s eyes. “I’m not going to kill her! Why would I do anything of the sort?” Susan seemed to have no further understanding than he did, her face was a mess of confusion and fear.

“Because if I come back, and she’s alive, I’ll have to kill her,” Chase replied, Susan let out a stifled gasp that he ignored. “Your choice, Oliver.” turning his back on both of them. The metal door shut, and the two of them were left alone.

**XxxX**

Evelyn had been to five different safe houses without any luck. Fortunately, she had also not run into Chase, something that brought her enormous relief. She knew, sooner or later, he would find out, but she only hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

She was back in the condemned apartment now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, putting her fifth red x over a green dot and sitting back with a sigh, staring at the map. Absentmindedly, she spooned some of the microwave mac and cheese out of the plastic container into her mouth.

She left the spoon in her mouth, reaching to grab the marker and leaned closer, studying the intersecting lines. She made a small circle around an area and put the marker down again. She was almost certain the circle contained one of Chase’s safe houses.

Evelyn gave herself a few minutes to just eat as she thought. Once or twice, she would pause to circle an area. By the time she was done, she had four more potential spots. She sat back, passing a hand over her tired eyes and standing to drop the plastic cup and spoon in the trash.

She’d search another area, then get a couple hours rest, then go out again.

**XxxX**

“The mayor has been missing for what we can assume to be over six days.” Emily Pollard, a councilwoman of Star City. “We need think critically and realize Oliver Queen may not return, or even be alive. We should consider moving on.”

It was something of an impromptu meeting, including some of the higher-ranking police officers, the city council and various officials. It was an inevitable happening, although one Lance had been hoping to put off for as long as possible.

“You think he should be announced as dead and replaced,” one of the councilmen translated. Pollard didn’t contradict him, conceding the point with a small gesture. “It seems to be our wisest choice. Star City is already shaken from the throwing star killer and these happenings with the Green Arrow. We can’t risk any weak links in the governing branch of a panicking city.”

“I disagree,” Pike spoke up suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention. “While you have an excellent point, this city shouldn’t be left without leadership, announcing the mayor’s death would not only cause alarm, it also might not be true.”

“We can’t wait around to find out the truth!” someone objected. The police captain nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, of course. But if the mayor’s abduction was really at the hands of the Green Arrow,” he paused. “A detail we cannot confirm, of course. But if it is true, then it is reasonable to believe that some sort of reason or ransom is going to surface is the near future. I propose we don’t officiate the death of the mayor until we have some clearer idea.”

 “We’ve already given this matter nearly,” Pollard spoke up. “How long do you expect us to all sit around?”

“Two weeks,” Quentin put in abruptly. “If there is no explanation by then, we can assume that this was not some sort of attention grabber or ransom.” Everyone split into their own conversations, calculating the risks and gains of such a move. Finally, it quieted down again.

“We can put the matter to vote,” one of the councilmen said. “All in favor, say aye.” There was a chorus of ayes, it was completely unanimous and he gave a shrug, looking back to Quentin and Pike. “It seems we have a decision. Eight more days marks two weeks from the official disappearance of Oliver Queen. If there is no news by then, he will be reported dead and Quentin Lance will take over the position of mayor.”

Lance let out a quiet breath. It was something, at least. He shot a glance at Pike as the official jargon continued. The police captain was staring straight ahead, seeming to be focused on the conversation around him, not meeting the deputy mayor’s eyes.

**XxxX**

“Susan,” she was watching at him with a sideways, nervous look as if expecting an attack at any second. “Hey, hey, it's alright, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then he will,” she whispered, voice cracked and barely audible. “Please, Oliver, just do it.” There was something in her eyes, a broken, dark something that pained Oliver to see. She had never been like that, but then again, Chase had held her in captivity for some time, and there was no way she could have left that without permanent mental scarring. “That’s the only way this’ll end.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Oliver could barely believe what she was saying. “Listen to me, it’s going to be alright. Chase is not going to hurt you, I promise.” She looked at him doubtfully, with a trace of something else that Oliver couldn’t quite recognize. “I am sorry you’ve been pulled into this.” He added, trying to pull her mind away.

Even as he spoke, the archer’s thoughts raced for a solution. He didn’t see any way to get out of the predicament. Potentially, depending on how close he was able to get, he might be able to cut Susan’s bonds. That, however, didn’t improve the situation. She would be unable to take on Chase, of course, and Oliver doubted the knife would assist him in undoing the manacles binding him.

“Then why did you?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you tell the truth to begin with?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver replied. There were thousands of reasons why he didn’t reveal his identity, of course. Her reporter status, unfamiliarity, the risk of being exposed, he didn’t have time to even sort through all of them. But when it boiled down to it, none of those were what had stopped him.

“You didn’t trust me,” Susan said, the injury in her voice clear. “I wasn’t a permanent part of your life.” Oliver didn’t try to deny the accusation, after all, it was less of an allegation than a truth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, honestly. But what’s important is you get out of here.”

“And how are you going to do that?” she demanded. The door behind her swung open as Chase stalked into the cell again, looking unsurprised to see Susan still alive, neither her nor Oliver having moved at all.

“It’s like you’re trying to prove something.” Chase looked over at Oliver, expression exasperated. “What’s your point here?” He reached down, pulling Susan to her feet and Oliver stood immediately, ignoring the crippling pain and way his leg immediately tried to buckle. “I’ve given you several outs.”

 “Let her go!” Oliver moved forward, ignoring the restriction of the chains and agony it caused him. Chase was out of range, and despite the archer’s struggles, he knew he had no way of reaching either of them. He could only press his weight against the chains, willing them to snap as he watched.

“Maybe you didn’t think I was serious before,” Chase said coldly, pulling Susan against him. “So, I’ll give you another chance, confess, and I’ll let her go.”

“I-I don’t know what you want,” Oliver said. “Just please, let her go.”

“Yes, you do,” Adrian replied. “And if you want to save her, you can. I’m not asking for much, just that little truth that you’ve been too afraid to tell anyone.”

“Don’t-”

“Come on!” the shouted words rebounded around the cell, Susan stiffened, her body was visibly shaking. “Do you want her to die, Oliver? Does she really not matter to you? I’ve offered you a way out, I’ve offered to release her. Just say it, let her know what type of person you really are.”

“I can’t-” he felt as though he could barely comprehend what was going on. His heartbeat was a frenzied race, his vision was narrowed by darkness and his breath felt as though there was some great pressure forcing down onto it. His short, shallow breaths were not enough to bring in oxygen, and though he faintly knew that, Oliver did not have the mentality to try to calm himself down. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Chase sighed, his grip lessened, and Susan immediately sagged, obviously thinking he was releasing her. For a moment, it seemed as if he was, then, Oliver saw the knife slide out of his sleeve. He let out a wordless shout as Adrian buried the blade in Susan’s chest. He didn’t slow her descent, and she fell to the floor, her face set in shock, tied hands fumbling with the handle protruding from her.

The adrenaline left him in a rush, and Oliver’s leg collapsed, forcing him to fall to his knees once more, staring at the blood slowly pooling underneath Susan. She stared back at him, eyes wide and scared, mouth shaping words that didn’t make it into the chilled air. Oliver felt as though he couldn’t move, shock prevented his grief from taking hold, but it also froze his limbs, his mind couldn’t work. He watched the life slowly drain from her eyes, watched her scrabbling hands slow their frantic pulling.

“This is on you, Oliver,” Chase commented casually. There was nothing in his demeanor that hinted he had just murdered an innocent woman. He paced around the cell, studying pictures, still speaking. “Just like all those other deaths. You killed my father because he was a name on a list, but that’s not really true, is it?” Oliver’s hands twisted in the chains, pulling against them.

“The list was just an excuse, the hood, the disguise, just an excuse,” Chase continued. “The idea that all of this is just some heroic crusade is just an excuse!”

“An excuse for what?” Oliver’s voice was raised now, anger boiling over.

“No, you tell me, Oliver!” Chase shouted back. “You tell me.” The words were quieter, calmer, like the deceptive surface of the ocean. The archer dropped his head, staring at the floor. “I know what’s going through your mind, Oliver.” A smirk appeared on his face. “You’re thinking you can get yourself free from those chains, grab that knife from the floor and kill me just like a killed Susan.”

Oliver forced himself to his feet, lunging towards Chase, ignoring the recoil from the chains snapping tight.

“There it is! There’s the look I’ve been waiting to see!” Chase crowed. “But it’s not just about killing me, is it? No, there’s something else.” The archer wanted nothing more than to snap Chase’s neck, to see him suffer, to watch him die. “Confess, Oliver. You don’t kill because you have to, so why? Why do you do it?”

“Because I wanted to,” Oliver murmured. He didn’t know if the words were true, but saying them aloud, he realized they must be. There was no escaping, what had he been thinking. “I wanted to.”

“What?” Chase prompted.

“ _Because I wanted to_!” Oliver shouted, the words tearing through his rough throat like sandpaper, rebounding off of the cement walls. “ _And I liked it_!” The pictures stared down at him accusingly. Oliver moved back, his breath coming in small gasps, his shoulders slumping. It was all true.

It had all been a lie.

**XxxX**

Evelyn sensed the person moving through the shadows in the alley, her eyes detecting the faint movement just on the edge of her peripheral vision. Her heart accelerated, beating so loud it seemed impossible for the other not to hear. Trying to remain casual, she kept her eyes ahead, walking at a normal pace even while her hand slipped underneath her jacket. Somehow, she hadn’t been careful enough, he had found out. She wouldn’t stand a chance, realistically, she knew that. But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Evelyn turned suddenly, pistol rising and taking aim at the shadows, eyes sweeping frantically to try to locate a target. “Why don’t you come out and we can settle this.” She said, voice steadier than she expected it to be. A shadow moved, and she snapped her gun to fix on it, weapon unshaking. The shadow warped into the shape of a man, broad, build different from Chase. His features were hidden by darkness, but she saw him hold up both hands.

“Put down your gun,” the voice was unfamiliar, deep, marked by an accent she didn’t recognize. “I’m not here to fight.” Evelyn hesitated, not willing to let down her guard. It wasn’t Chase, that was sure, but she couldn’t rule out it was one of his allies.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?” the man took another step forward and she moved back, hand tightening on the handle. But the movement had brought him into the grey city light, something, she realized, that was probably intentional on his part. Her first, rough assumption had been correct, he had a broad, muscular build, every movement he made seemed to contain a precise danger. One dark eye met her challenging gaze, unreadable, but unnervingly so, the other was concealed behind a dark patch that accented the tan, bearded face.

“My name is Slade Wilson,” he replied. “I’m here to find Oliver Queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of who you were asking about Slade...ARE YOU HAPPY? (Kidding, don't leave, please. I love you guys, and I really appreciate those comments.)  
> The Tumblr account is up and running again, so if anyone has requests feel free to send them in and I'll see what I can do.


	5. The Permanent Scars

“You say that as like it means I should trust you,” Evelyn glared at the stranger. “I’m going to need more than a name before I believe you’re not just another psychopath plotting revenge.”

“And exactly what might I say that would give you any reason to believe me?” the man inquired with a touch of sarcasm. It was a logical response, and something Evelyn couldn’t really argue with, but that didn’t mean she was going to back down. “Oliver and I were stranded on the same island some years back, we haven’t spoken in some time.”

“So how are you here now?” She demanded.

“The disappearance of Star City’s mayor is plastered over the news,” the man who called himself Slade Wilson replied. “It sounded serious, I wanted to check in.” Finally, Evelyn allowed her guard to drop. She holstered her gun, going out on a limb and deciding to trust the newcomer.

“So, what do you know?” she prompted.

“Someone kidnapped Oliver and planted the blame on the Green Arrow,” he said. “Presumably to take out any reputation and support the Green Arrow has, and push Oliver into a corner. Meaning this is likely a personal vendetta, one this person has been pursuing through the year under a similar disguise. You used to work with him, it seems as though there was a falling out, but you’re not set against him anymore.” Evelyn was somewhat impressed.

“You did some research,” she muttered.

“I didn’t want to rush in,” the man said. “If there really wasn’t any trouble…Oliver wouldn’t handle kindly to me crashing in.”

“Sounds like you two had your own falling out,” Evelyn prompted curiously.

“Something like that,” he agreed gruffly and she sensed it wasn’t a matter that was open for discussion, the pained guilt that flashed over his features made it obvious it was something that the man had not quite forgiven himself for.

“I’ve been searching safe houses run by the man who took him, I’ve mapped out a few of them.” Evelyn changed the subject.

“What are his motives?” Wilson asked.

“Good question. But if you want to hear everything, it’ll take a while, and a back alley isn’t the best place to have this conversation,” Evelyn turned on heel, headed back in the same direction she had just come from minutes earlier. “Come with me.”

**XxxX**

“Where are we?” Diggle asked, stepping off of the elevator. Felicity shook her head.

“Just where we were yesterday,” she replied. “With no idea of where Oliver is.” For once, all of them were gathered in the lair, Quentin and Rene were sorting through piles of paperwork, looking for any sort of loophole or excuse they could use.

“What about that Human Target guy?” Rene suddenly asked, turning in his chair. “Why don’t we get him to just walk around for a few days and pretend to be Oliver?”

“Not a bad idea,” John agreed. “Except, Chance is currently somewhere in Europe and completely off the grid. We don’t have any way of contacting him.” Rene seemed to deflate at the suggestions being shot down so fast.

“Can we testify against it being the Green Arrow, at least?” Curtis asked. This time, it was Dinah who replied.

“How, by saying the mayor can’t kidnap himself?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, maybe,” Rene piped up. “One of us could drop a hint we saw Chase in the Prometheus suit.” They were all exhausted and running out of options, the frantic brainstorming was proof of that, most of the team had stopped seriously considering things before saying them.

“Even if I wasn’t running on twenty minutes of sleep that would still sound like the dumbest idea yet,” Thea spoke up from her corner, words unintentionally harsh.

“Stop,” Quentin set down his papers, catching everyone’s attention. “All of us are tired, everyone’s discouraged but we need legitimate options. The press is asking me to make a statement tomorrow and I can’t turn them down again.”

“We’re all just running ourselves down,” John agreed. Dinah pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

“Why don’t we take rest breaks?” she suggested. “A couple people go sleep, then they come back and take over for someone else.”

“That actually isn’t bad,” Felicity said.

“It means we wouldn’t stop work,” Rene added. Everyone looked towards John, after Oliver, he was seen as the second of command in most situations. He nodded.

“Sounds good to me, Felicity, Rene, Dinah, and Thea, you four take the first break, we’ll switch in two or three hours,” Diggle decided. No one felt up for arguing and the four he had picked trickled out to a room on the second level of the lair that Oliver had set up as a sort of bunker.

On the way there, Thea took a moment to speed up and walk next to Rene. “I’m sorry for snapping at you back there,” she said. He gave a small shrug.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rene brushed off the apology. “It wasn’t a good idea anyway, and when it comes to outbursts I think you have a couple freebies right now.” Thea shook her head.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” she murmured. “It just always seemed Oliver would find his own way out.”

**XxxX**

Ever since losing her parents, Evelyn’s life hadn’t followed what most people would consider normal. She had tried to take up the Black Canary mantle, something she now understood was poorly planned. She had been sought out by the Green Arrow and offered a place in his vigilante team. She had aligned herself with a psychopath.

But sitting on the floor of a rundown apartment with a man she barely knew, a map of the city stretched between them, weighted down by a couple knives, that had to be on top of the list. It was bizarrely casual, there was a pot of coffee about two feet away (sitting on the floor because she didn’t think the counters would hold any weight).

When they were seated, Evelyn started speaking, telling Slade about the past events in Star City. She didn’t spare any details. Not even when it came to her aligning with Chase. She was almost surprised there were no angry retorts when she got to that part. The truth was, he didn’t interrupt at all. Occasionally, she could see the tail end of emotions flash quickly across his face. When she told of Chase, or rather, Prometheus as they then knew him setting up Billy’s murder at Oliver’s hand, the sheer fury in Slade’s face made her stop.

The man merely reached out to his coffee mug, however, taking a drink that seemed too slow and precise to be natural. But he didn’t say anything, and she continued. By the time she finished, so was the cheap, bitter coffee.

Evelyn sat still, expecting some sort of questions. Slade appeared to still be processing the story, staring at nothing and remaining silent for some time. “You said he is allied with the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul?” He asked. She nodded. “How many fighters does she have?”

“There’s no way of telling,” Evelyn admitted. “At least twenty, but if there’s more, no one knows how many.” He looked down to the map without a response and his gaze moving along the lines she had drawn, often pausing at various locations. Once, he frowned visibly, and Evelyn, who had been sitting in silence for the last five minutes, finally had to speak up.

“So?”

He didn’t look up immediately, lingering over the map for a second later, mind obviously wrapped around his work. “It’d have to be a location in a private area,” he said finally. “Somewhere Chase wouldn’t have to worry about interlopers or any suspicious sounds and sights.”

“He could have the space soundproofed,” Evelyn pointed out.

“Maybe. However, there’d still be the risk of people seeing him go there often,” Slade replied. “It’d be more likely he’d find somewhere hidden.” There was logic in that, and Evelyn reached back to grab a red marker.

“That means we can knock off these entire sectors,” she said, crossing out two of her previously marked off locations. “There’s nowhere in there that’s out of the way. He also wouldn’t be at this house.” She crossed off on dot. “It’s located right in between a hotel and supermarket.”

“There’s a good chance he’s underground as well,” Slade added.

“What makes you say that?” Evelyn asked. Slade hesitated for a long moment before he finally replied.

“Its probable Chase will try some form of psychological torture, in addition to physical, and often that includes depriving the victim of any natural light or containing them in a small space,” Slade’s empty hands laced together and tightened, his knuckles turning white. His voice was deceptively calm. “It wears down morale along with losing any sense of time. With the designs of most buildings, it’s more likely a room suitable to such would be underground.” Hearing that spoken aloud made Evelyn feel an almost crippling stab of guilt and she nodded her understanding.

“I don’t have any way of searching for underground rooms,” she said. A thought suddenly clicked and she sat up. “Although-” she pulled the map closer to her, leaning over to look at a specific location. It was just out the outskirts of the Glades, surrounded by toppled buildings that were still under renovation from the Undertaking so many years back. Finding the street, she turned to her tablet, going to Google Earth (of all places) and putting in the address. Once there, she dropped the little pin man onto a street, waiting for the images to load.

“This was supposed to be a parking complex,” she said. “The top levels were destroyed, and the company that owned it went bankrupt so the area was just bulldozed. But there were underground layers.” Slade took the tablet, shifting the view.

“It’s possible,” he agreed. “But there should have been overhauls begun around the area.”

“That’s just it,” Evelyn said, warming to the idea. “The old railroad runs right next to it, and the whole area is considered unstable and highly dangerous. The city council has been arguing about it for years but no one knows how to safely get the machines necessary in there.”

“It would be easy to buy as well,” Slade commented. “The city would be happy to get rid of it and likely ask less questions than is usual.” He held out the tablet for her and Evelyn took it. “It’s a good lead. If this is the place, there will be a resistance. You’ll need your weapons.” Evelyn nodded, she felt a burning ember of hope inside of her, but even so, her stomach was already churning with nerves. All this planning and scouting was one thing, having an almost definite location and preparing to go face off with whoever was there was something else. “Unless you’re not willing to.” She glared at him.

“I am not stepping away from this,” Evelyn said. “No matter what happens. I messed up, and I am going to do whatever the hell I have to and compensate for that.”

**XxxX**

The pain in his chest made it hard to breathe. Oliver lay on his back, eyes almost completely shut, alone in his grey world of pain. Every rise of his chest as he inhaled pulled painfully at the scorched skin on his chest, Chase’s most recent infliction.

It was hard to force his mind to think of anything, to move out of that numb space and try to process information. It was easy to just lay still, unmoving, unthinking, silently begging death to take him. He couldn’t survive here, and he had no escape. His left hand was glued shut with blood, the leather and metal of the cuffs had chaffed through the skin on both wrists, and his struggles when Chase had burned away the Bratva tattoo had only opened the scabbed over injuries.

Susan was still there. Her sightless eyes stared upward towards the low ceiling, her mouth open in surprise, blood pooling around her, staining her soft hair and clotting the strands together. The air stank of it, the metallic, sickly stench. Oliver felt as though it had settled in his airway and throat, clinging to him and sinking into his skin.

His left hand uncurled slowly, caked blood flaking away as his fingers moved. He stopped moving once the hand was straightened. His fingers felt the shackles, slowly, shallowly probing the metal, a natural reaction more than any desire to free himself. His eyes opened blearily, and his head turned, staring at the lifeless figure not far away.

The knife handle still rose from her chest, the blade lodged deep within. Slowly, agonizingly, Oliver moved. He rolled to his stomach, then pressed himself up to his knees. He wavered and caught himself on his hands. Unable to move quickly, he inched his way closer to Susan’s body. When he reached her, he almost collapsed again. Fighting against that urge, he reached out, the fingers of his hand wrapped around the knife handle.

The nauseating task of pulling the knife out of her corpse was more difficult for Oliver than it should have been. He was unable to get any sort of leverage and had to work the blade by twisting and pulling until it finally slid free.

He dropped back, hand clutching the knife, ragged breaths dragging their way through his body. He looked down at the blade, not even knowing what he had meant to do with it. Death was a viable option. His hand even twitched at the thought, but raising it required too much energy.

 _You’d be doing the world a favor_. There was no emotion even in his thoughts, the consideration was dull, as if he were looking at some fictional person, making up another person’s story. But there was still a small part of him, something buried in his very core that fought against the idea. Slowly, Oliver moved the tip of the blade, levering it against the locks in the manacles. It took him sometime before one finally clicked, dropping away with an unreal relief.

For a second, he was unable to do anything but stare at his wrist, unsure if this were really real. Then, he went to work on the other shackle, slowly twisting the point in, levering it against the lock, pressing up, twisting and-

_Chink_

The metal clacked against the cement floor and Oliver was free. Off balanced, he stood, dragging himself towards the cell door. He held on to the cold bars to keep himself standing. The keypad wasn’t within reach, on the far wall and Oliver stared at it. He hadn’t thought this out.

**XxxX**

“Remember what we’re doing?” Slade’s words were barely above a whisper as the two of them crouched in the sheltering structure of a building just a couple meters from the taped off area that marked the underground lot. Evelyn nodded, eyes fixed ahead.

“You mean get in, get Oliver, get out? Easy,” she said, proud of herself when her voice didn’t waver.

“Complicated plans go wrong,” Slade replied. “It’s best to keep things simple.”

“We didn’t even _make_ a plan,” Evelyn muttered. He glanced over at her.

“Then it can’t go wrong,” he said with only a trace of grim humor.

Evelyn had forgone any type of uniform or mask, the latter still felt uncomfortable to wear around, and she reasoned that Chase already knew who she was. Instead, she wore simple, dark clothes that allowed for freedom of movement, her quiver was slung over her shoulder, bow in hand.

Wilson had reappeared in an armored suit, carrying a bicolored mask of orange and black, a sword hanging from a sheath on his back. This time, he had also brought a car, which would prove vital for getting Oliver out if he wasn’t in good condition.

The thought made Evelyn shiver a little, and she grounded herself, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the tension tightening her muscles. “The entrance is in the left corner,” she said. “The original one is meshed over but Chase made his own.”

“Then let’s go,” he straightened and moved across the space, Evelyn following. Sunset had occurred over an hour before, and their way was only lit by flickering street lights. The bulbs of which were nearing their time of replacement. The entrance was flat in the ground, a metal door that slid open when Slade pressed on it, surprisingly not requiring any form of lock. The space below them shone with artificial light, a ladder leading down from the opening.

Slade ignored it and merely dropped, landing in a light crouch, immediately ready for any attack. Evelyn, however, moved down the rungs, skipping the last few and landing next to him, looking around the open space.

It such a wide area, any sound carried, and neither of them spoke. They moved forward cautiously, alert for any enemies, following the arrows painted almost five years earlier that pointed down. It was too disorienting, too open, an attack could come from any direction and Evelyn felt on edge.

They reached the ramp leading down and Evelyn almost groaned aloud. It was blocked. The ceiling above must have collapsed. The way in front of them was blocked with a pile of rubble and cement. She looked around to Slade, about to mouth ‘now what’ only to see him waiting. He gestured towards something and she followed his gaze. There was a human-sized door not far away, it looked solid, and they moved towards it.

There was no handle on the outside, but there was a keypad next to it. Evelyn shrugged at Slade’s inquiring glance. She had no idea what it might be, Chase was too smart to do that. He looked back to the door, it away from them, but the hinges were inaccessible.

Evelyn turned to look for another option, moving a few steps away and looking back down the ramp, part of her hoping to see some sort of opening. There wasn’t, of course, just as there wasn’t the first time she’d looked. Maybe if-

_CRASH_

Evelyn jumped, her heart missing several beats as she whirled around, searching for the source of the noise. Slade glanced in her direction, still standing in the same place. The doorway, however, was minus a door, and as she walked back over to him, she saw it had been flung inward with considerable force.

“Great,” she said aloud, voice low. “You either just rung Chase’s doorbell or destroyed city property.” They pressed on, going down a narrow staircase that led to the bottom floor. The stairwell turned multiple times, built in such a way to conserve space. They rounded the last turn and were just stepping down the final stairs when Evelyn saw a shadow move against the wall. She barely had time to call out a warning before an arrow went whistling past them.

Slade immediately went in for an attack, ignoring the projectiles and lunging through the doorway, his sword hissing as it came free of its sheath. The man at the bottom of the stairs was taken by surprise at the brutal attack and quickly fell under the barrage.

“We need to split up,” Slade said. They were on the second story, but it was obvious Chase had made substantial changes. Instead of an open space, rooms and walls had been constructed. Evelyn nodded and wordlessly they started out in opposite directions. Evelyn went left, finding herself in an almost storage like room with shelves lining the walls and several cabinets. She walked across, intending to simply go through the door on the other side when something green caught her eye.

Stopping, she turned to the shelf, reaching up to pull down the bundle. She stared at the items, the quiver and green Kevlar mix top, and mask. The guard had assured them this was one of Chase’s safe houses, but this meant Oliver was there, possibly close. She adjusted the items to be easier to carry, tying the quiver next to her own and moving on.

She hadn’t anticipated to open the next door and walk straight into a darkly clad figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop writing these things at three o'clock in the morning, I rush too much.  
> Anyway, as always, thanks for reading, be sure to send your thoughts, schemes, ideas, suspicious, anything.


	6. For Better or for Worse

_uVern Parking Complex, the Glades, Star City_

Slade made his way through the hallways and rooms that modified the space that had initially been meant for something as mundane as city parking. He moved with care, not particularly concerned about who he might run into, but also not willing to make an unnecessary complication by bringing half an army down upon them.

It was impossible to even consider their entrance had gone unnoticed, and Slade’s main concern was that one of the sentries would have the initiative to go to Oliver instead of trying to take down the intruders. The Mirakuru raced inside of him, and it was all Slade could do to prevent himself from following its prompt and smashing through the entire space, murdering anyone who even dared to get in his way.

He had meet Talia al Ghul once, a meeting that had been brief and not particularly favorable. He had been hunting down the head of an international human trafficking cartel and she had been looking for an experimental drug designed by that particular union. Slade hadn’t liked the idea of someone having such a weapon, and Talia hadn’t been about to let someone stop her. The vial had ended up smashed, but Slade had spent the next day recovering from the deep cuts across his throat and effects of the bomb Talia had set off. He wasn’t inclined to like her after that.

He came to the end of a hallway, a closed door opposing him that Slade kicked open without difficulty, clearing the room before moving forward. It was empty, and he didn’t waste time, moving straight through the narrow hall and through the next door. The design of the rooms made it difficult, nearly impossible to remain unseen. Of course, that was most likely Chase’s plan.

He kicked down another door and swung his sword up to intercept the frantic strike of one of Talia’s students who had rushed across the room at the sound of the door being knocked in. Slade put him down easily, twisting the blade out of his grasp plunged his own weapon through the man’s chest. He didn’t feel any remorse as he stepped over the motionless body, clear of the blood that was slowly pooling around him. The years had worn out Slade’s sense of morality, on top of that, finding Oliver was a priority, retrieving him from this hellhole seemed more important than worrying about who got in the way.

There was a red haze as well, that settled on the vestiges of his vision and threatened to take over his mind, there was a dark, brutal thing inside him that longed to mutilate and destroy every fucking thing that dared get in between him and his mission. But he knew were such thoughts would lead him, he’d been there before, and the last thing he wanted was to go there again, especially around Oliver.

As he continued walking, Slade would pause every so often to plot a small explosive. They were all manually controlled, he wanted to have a distraction should things come down to it. He could already guess that none of this would end well. In more ways than one.

There was a surreal feel to all of this, of being back in Star City, this time, not just hiding out in shadows but actually running after Oliver. He was trying not to think about the actual meeting, but it hung over him like a cloud, and Slade couldn’t deny the knowing unease he felt.

There was a haunting doubt that he was making a terrible mistake, that it would have been better to try to tip off the team Oliver worked with and convince them to go after the archer. But that would have included far too many risks and complications. They might not believe an anonymous tip, in fact, there was scarcely a chance they would. And simply encouraging the girl to go speak to them would have held its own complications. Either choice would have added precious time to the search, and there was no telling how much Oliver would pay for that time, he had already been missing for so many days that Slade knew he would be in poor shape.

Realistically, then, this was the best option, and he would just have to deal with the consequences, with whatever righteous anger Oliver had, when it came. He could leave, if that was what the archer wanted, it would go against every instinct Slade felt, every need to help Oliver, every buried wish he had to stand next to Oliver again, but those weren’t important.

What was important was Oliver got free, and after, that Adrian Chase paid for every goddamn thing he had ever done to hurt the man Slade himself had damaged so long ago.

**XxxX**

It took Oliver a couple seconds to figure a way out of his predicament. Once decided, he moved around the small cell, collecting the items he needed. The ceiling was low enough that he could lift him arms directly up, press himself up to his toes and be able to catch the edge of the light fixture. He yanked it downward, pulling the wires down as well, he reached up through the small hole which the wires ran from, feeling his way blindly along the wires. As he expected, in this particular room, Chase had sealed off the narrow space for wires, believing it might be some sort of escape route, the light was plugged directly into an outlet, that connected directly to an outside source. Oliver passed the knife through the hole, carefully snipping around the wrapped wires until the metal was exposed.

It took several seconds of blind rummaging before Oliver managed to manipulate the bare wires into place and ducked down as sparks flared from the outlet and the light shut off.

He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness before moving forward, pushing the door open and stepping out of the cell. The next opened just as easily and Oliver stepped out into the darkened hallway. He wasn’t sure how much space was covered by the fuse he had blown, but the outage continued for as far as he could see. The archer made his way carefully, the space dimly lit by small lights along the walls. He passed through a long hallway, then a door that went through a small room.

Suddenly, he heard a crash ahead, and Oliver froze, eyes probing the shadows. Maybe he had been heard, or more likely, the outage alerted Chase or some guard he had posted that Oliver was free. He tightened his grip on the blade and moved forward

**XxxX**

Evelyn jumped backwards, the movement saving her as a sword cleaved through the air, the tip just catching her and ripping through the shirt and skin on her shoulder. She let her instincts take over as the hooded figure continued her attack. The lights suddenly shut off, startling them both, but Evelyn responded faster.

There was still some light from battery powered devices scattered about the rooms. She pulled out a knife, twisting out of the way out another strike. She stabbed out, catching the hooded figure in the abdomen and put both hands on her bow as she swung it up into her’s. The attacker was obviously caught off guard, and Evelyn pressed her advantage spinning to gain moment before crashing the bow, gripped in her closed fist, into the side of her head.

The woman dropped, but before Evelyn could celebrate, an arrow nicked her hair and she leapt over the fallen man, running through the room and cursing the extra luggage that made it difficult to move as freely as she usually would have. She risked a glance over her shoulder and her stomach dropped as she saw a crowd of attackers hot on her heels. She needed a better place to stop and hold them off. She threw herself against the next door, twisting the handle at the same time. She wasn’t expecting it to already be opening, and fell through onto the floor, immediately rolling to a better position and snatching an arrow out of her quiver.

She shot it at the hooded figure who was almost to the door and he fell, projectile sticking out of his knee. The man who had opened the door threw a knife at the next attacker, taking him through the throat, in the same motion, the man shut the door, the dull thud of an attacker hitting it, startling Evelyn back. She pushed herself up against the wall, the dim lights casting bizarre shadows over the entire space.

The man slammed something into the door handled and it snapped off, landing on the ground. His head turned in her direction, and she held up a hand, trying to settling her pounding heartbeat.

“I promise I have an explanation for everything. But I promise I’m here to help, there’s an explanation,” Evelyn managed. “Just…” she fumbled with the second quiver, finally getting it free. She lifted both that and the green jacket. Oliver reached out to take them, his expression hidden in shadow and unreadable.

“We have a bigger priority,” he said, shrugging on the jacket and slinging the quiver over his shoulder, tying it in place. “Let’s get to the explanations later.” She let out a breath she didn’t know she holding and nodded. Oliver glanced at the door as it shook. “Let’s find another way out.”

They turned around, and started off at a relatively fast pace. Evelyn couldn’t help noticing that Oliver wasn’t moving easily, he was favoring one leg and looked as though he were in a great deal of pain. He also didn’t speak as they moved, although she followed close enough to hear his breathing as it became faster than it should have been. Such an activity should have been no difficulty for him.

“There’s someone else here as well,” Evelyn said suddenly, taking several steps to catch up with Oliver. “I’m not sure where he’s from, but I’m positive he’s an ally.” She remembered what Slade had said about knowing the archer. _Oliver wouldn’t handle kindly to me crashing in_. Maybe mentioning exactly _who_ he was wasn’t the best idea yet. “He says he knows you.” Oliver glanced at her, expression far from relieved.

“I know a lot of people,” he said. He paused as he opened a door, scanning the room before moving forward, Evelyn drawing her bow up behind him. “And not all of them I ever want to see again.” Evelyn grimaced, the expression going unseen. “But he didn’t hurt you at all?”

“No, no,” she replied quickly. “As I said, I’m sure he’s an ally, he basically found this place.” To her immense relief, Oliver didn’t seem to think this was important enough to continue conversation about, because his next comment changed the subject.

“Where are we in reference to the rest of the city?” he asked, barely slowing. This pace was obviously taking a toll on him, but Oliver seemed refusing to admit any sort of weakness as he forced himself on.

“The second story of an underground facility that was meant to be a parking garage,” Evelyn said immediately. “It’s in the condemned section of the Glades, Chase probably bought it without any issues. We also haven’t seen him at all since breaking down here,” she added. Oliver nodded, not seeming surprised. They rounded a corner, and she finally risked the question that was bother her. “Are you sure you should be running around right now?” The archer dismissed the query without a single thought.

“Little choice.”

She would have made another comment, but three of Talia’s students seemed to appear in front of them, and there was no conversation as the two lunged forwards to attack the threat. While it wasn’t a difficult fight, one of the hooded figures shouted out before being silenced by one of Oliver’s arrows, jammed forward into his skin without use of a bow. The door across from them exploded open as a hoard of the attackers rushed through and Evelyn could have sworn, she heard Oliver curse under his breath.

The archer drew a sword off a fallen figure, squaring up as the first couple students reached them. Evelyn, more to the side of the battle as most of the attackers went directly for Oliver, was able to spot the single hooded man near the back of the room, loading an arrow into his bowstring. There was something bizarre about the arrow, and the girl had just realized what it was when he fired, and her shouted warning was proved useless. Even her arrow, fired a split second after the hooded man’s, sunk into the attacker too late.

The arrow slammed into Oliver’s unprotected side, his arm raised to block what would have been a killing strike. It didn’t sink far into his skin, the syringe tip designed only to pass the liquid it bore into its target, and not to damage. Evelyn’s shot had opened her to attack and she was nearly beheaded, ducking aside just in time. Oliver, despite every stubborn quirk, was suffering, not only from the injuries he already had, but from the mass of attackers, and the slashes he had received in the past few minutes. He stumbled suddenly, whether from his injuries or whatever the syringe had held was unclear.

 _Coms_. Evelyn berated herself. _Why didn’t we use coms?_ There were, of course, about twenty logical answers, but she wasn’t open to actually considering any of them. Her feet were kicked out from underneath her as one of the hooded figures overpowered her resistance. Knocked to the ground, Evelyn rolled out of the way of the sword plunging downward, the confusion of the battle threatening to swallow her, she forced herself to stand, casting around to see Oliver, barely conscious, still fending off attackers. He had fallen to one knee, and she took a risky shot at the woman who was swinging a weapon at his unprotected back.

The woman stumbled back under the force of the arrow and dropped. There were still several attackers left, but Oliver was obviously holding out until the end, forcing back the drug as much as he could. Even so, his body was slowly sliding to the ground, and even as he jammed his sword up into the body in front of him, his hand lost its grip on the sword hilt. What little hope Evelyn still had wilted, there was no way they were making it out.

_CRASH_

Evelyn blinked as something flew past her, trying to verify if that was actually a door, or if she was merely imagining things. But the shape was undeniable. The mystery was solved, as several of Talia’s students were cut down in rapid succession. They crumbled, blood soaking their dark clothes as they littered the ground. Slade had finally arrived, and he made short work of the attackers left, Evelyn knew it would be pointless trying to assist and went instead to Oliver’s side, making sure none of the attackers would make an attempt at him while the archer was down. She had scarcely reached him, however, when Slade also stepped up, sheathing a bloody sword with barely any attention to the weapon, dropping to his knees next to the archer and stripping off his gloves.

Evelyn stood by, watching quietly as the man reached out, his hands hesitated a few inches away from Oliver, not touching the archer, before he cautiously closed the last couple measures, feeling for a pulse, his stillness in the long seconds after was a bad sign.

“He’s in bad shape,” Slade commented. “We need to move.” He tossed a small device to Evelyn who caught it deftly. “Press that once we’re clear.” Without any sign of difficulty, he lifted the archer, cradling the still form with what seemed to be an uncharacteristic gentleness. Evelyn reached back, counting the nocks still in her quiver as they started walking, the girl leading the way through the maze.

When they finally reached the ladder leading up into the outside world, Evelyn scrabble up first, turning to offer Slade assistance. Once again, however, he demonstrated no difficulty as he shifted Oliver’s body to free one arm and moved up the rungs. He moved with such precision and gentle carefulness, seeming so genuinely terrified of the idea of accidentally jarring Oliver or moving too fast, that Evelyn had to push away a few nagging questions. Instead, she turned her attention to the device Slade had handed her, flipping it open and pressing the single round button. The ground shook as distant rumbles echoed up through the ground.

The strange group trudged to the waiting car, and as Slade secured Oliver in the back seat, creating a makeshift harness with seat belts, Evelyn clambered into the front, starting the car and dropping into the passenger seat, a moment later, Slade slid into the driver’s seat.

“Chase knows about the place I was staying,” Evelyn said. “Do you have a different place available?” Slade nodded.

“I know a place.”

**XxxX**

Slade insisted on ditching the car two blocks away from the destination. They walked the rest of the way, hugging the back alleys and shadows, staying out of sight. They stopped outside of an apartment complex, the outside façade worn and mundane, nothing that would attract attention. They passed an out of order elevator and went instead up the cement stairs, Evelyn scouting ahead although she had no idea what she would do if anyone stepped out into the hallway.

Fortunately, no one did, and they made it to the third floor, where Slade stepped off, without problem. They walked down the narrow hallway, lit by bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Evelyn had severe doubts about the cleanliness of the carpeted floor but she kept them to herself.

There were five apartments on this level, and the two walked all the way down the hall, until they reached the door and the far end. Evelyn unlocked it with the key Slade gave her and opened the door, stepping clear to allow the man to pass through before shutting it and setting every lock. Slade threaded through the apartment, leaving Evelyn to look around curiously as she slowly walked after him. It was a cheap apartment, the space that passed off as a kitchen was tiny, pressed into a recess to the immediate left of the door, with cupboards lining both walls and a small fridge jammed next to the sink.

The first room was a living area, with a couch against one wall across from an empty wall. There was a dining room table staggered between the kitchen alcove and the couch with four chairs around it. It was small, but a lot cleaner than Evelyn was anticipating. Slade crossed the space and through the second of two white washed doors which led to a cramped bedroom. He set Oliver on the bed, holding the archer up as he removed his quiver and put it next to the bedside table. He then lowered Oliver slowly, stepping away and reentering the main room.

Slade glanced over at Evelyn as he pulled open the doors underneath the kitchen sink, pulling out a medical kit. “You alright?” he asked, sorting through the supplies quickly. She nodded.

“Just a couple scratches,” she shrugged. “Do you have everything Oliver needs?” _Hospital_ of course was a word that had disappeared from Evelyn’s vocabulary about the same time she started going out on the streets. But Oliver was in worse shape that just getting a few nicks from a patrol.

“Enough to patch him up,” Slade replied shortly. “Most of his recovery no one can help with.” He seemed to narrow down whatever he needed because he straightened, the plastic box in one hand, a small package in the other. He set the latter on the table. “Take care of yourself, a battle injury is often a lot worse than you initially think. Bathroom’s through there.” He pointed to the first door and she nodded her understanding.

“After that I need to clear out somethings from the old safehouse,” she said, collecting the package. Slade regarded her for a moment, thoughts unclear before he nodded.

“Just make sure you’re not followed.” He replied, then retreated to tend to Oliver.

Evelyn stepped into the little bathroom, shutting and locking the door. There was another entry, undoubtedly from the bedroom, and she locked that door as well before pulling off her shirt to see her shoulder more clearly. It wasn’t deep, and she guessed it was more superficial than it looked. It only took her a couple minutes to clean away the blood and see the slit clearly. She bandaged it with gauze and tape, rolling her shoulders back and forth to feel the injury. Satisfied with her work, she washed off her hands and swept the opened packages into the trash. She pulled on her shirt once again and unlocked the doors, stepping out into the living space.

On her way out the door, Evelyn collected the key from the table. She had grown very familiar with the layout of Star City, and knew where most things stood in retrospect to other locations. She had little doubt she would have any trouble going back to the safe house.

**XxxX**

Oliver was severely injured. Slade hadn’t realized the extent of damage Chase had inflicted until he eased off the archer’s top, baring the mess of blood and torn and broken skin. Slade exhaled sharply, disgust and anger at the coward of a man who did such things churning deep inside him. He focused instead on his task, beginning to clean away the dried blood and caked dirt. Oliver stirred briefly under the ministrations, letting out the barest whisper of a sound before he stilled again, the strong sedative still coursing through him.

There was a severe burn on one side of Oliver’s chest, nearly opposite of a festering wound that Slade immediately knew was infected. Along with the countless bruises and several, smaller cuts, Slade steady grew more concerned. He finished treating the injuries scattered across Oliver’s torso, adding a potentially cracked rib to his mental list and took a moment to collect clean water to look over Oliver’s back.

It was easy lifting the archer up, but Slade still moved slowly, not wanting to cause any more damage and honestly, not wanting to accidentally wake the archer up. Part of him wished Oliver would stay unconscious for the extent of Slade’s work.

His hand paused its work as Slade stared at the tattoo over Oliver’s shoulder blade area. The memory of that time burned bright, unwelcome in his mind, and he set Oliver back down carefully, not wanting to look at the dragon any longer. The guilt was almost unbearable, and Slade suddenly accepted that staying here would be a fatal mistake.

He stepped back to look over the archer, probing for any more signs of an injury when he noticed the tear in the material high on Oliver’s right hip. Cursing quietly, Slade shifted the material far enough to see the bullet hole. Oliver’s body had attempted to heal, of course, but he could tell from the bizarre shape the bullet was still inside. The wound wasn’t healing cleanly, and Slade had to dig through the medical box to find a scalpel and pair of pliers. He studied the injury for a moment before making a small slit, blood immediately spilling over from the cut skin. Oliver shifted at the discomfort.

Slade pushed down on the cut with the scalpel, and manipulated the tweezers into the punctured hold. He was anticipating Oliver to react, but still wasn’t ready for the archer to jerk his knee upward. As Slade was kneeling next to the bed, the swing caught him on one side of the face, and he nearly dropped both tools as he jerked his head back.

Oliver, still unconscious, struggled and Slade was forced to drop the scalpel in favor of holding the archer down with one hand, preventing him from moving too much. Oliver still managed to thrash and buck against the pressure, his subconscious telling him he was in danger. Gritting his teeth, Slade tried to focus on digging the bullet out. It felt like hours before he finally pulled the tweezers free, holding the piece of metal.

He stepped back at once and Oliver slowly stopped his struggling, the pain now not as sharp as it used to be. With a sigh, Slade dropped the bullet into a small container. He spent the next couple minutes hooking an IV up to Oliver’s arm and hanging the bag from the headboard. It would most likely have to be switched soon.

He cleaned up, dropping several things straight into the trash and putting everything else back under the sink. Once done, he simply hovered in the doorway between the bedroom and living room, not sure of what to do next.

The lock of the front door clicked as a key was turned, and Evelyn stepped through, shutting the door and locking it again. Her eyes flicked around the apartment before snapping to him as she dropped the keys on the table.

“I wasn’t followed, I’m sure,” she said, then. “How’s Oliver?”

“Resting,” Slade replied, unsure of what else to say. “He still has yet to wake.” She nodded, dropping a plain black duffel on the floor. Slade allowed himself a moment to phrase his next words. “Do you have anyway to contact his team?” She looked at him with a strange expression.

“I have a couple numbers still memorized, and I can always just show up, although I guarantee that if I call, they’ll just hang up and if I show up…well then they’ll probably shoot me,” Evelyn replied flatly. “Why?”

“Contacting them now may be a better choice than simply waiting for Oliver to wake up. Being around several people is the safer option for him,” Slade said. He hesitated a moment before adding; “I’ll try to find out Chase’s exact location and plans, but there are other he might send.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?!” Evelyn demanded. She had the good sense to keep her voice down, but her words were no less sharp. Slade looked at her reproachfully.

“It’s the best choice, Oliver doesn’t need more complications,” he replied.

“He also needs people on his side who can actually hold their own!” She argued. “I mean, no offense to Re-to the people he recently recruited.”

“Rene Ramirez and Curtis Holt?” Slade offered.

“Yeah, maybe just pull back a little on the fact you’ve been lowkey stalking his life,” Evelyn commented. “But yes, neither of them are exactly professional, and Chase has several very dangerous allies and basically an army. He’s smart, and insane, and Oliver needs more people in his corner.” She gestured around them. “And clearly Chase isn’t expecting you.”

“I can assure you, Oliver will not want me around,” Slade replied, a little too sharply. Evelyn shrugged.

“Then he doesn’t, you’ll figure that out later. I mean, I’m going to be pretty surprised if he even wants me involved in this again. I don’t know what happened between you two, but maybe this is your opportunity to make it better.”

Strangely, Slade found he didn’t have an argument for that. He stood still for a moment, searching, but none came. “Maybe,” he finally agreed. He turned around, sliding his sword off. “You should get some rest, there are extra blankets and sheets in the linen closet,” he added. “I doubt anything more will be happening tonight.”

“If I disappear it means whatever’s living in the couch ate me!” Evelyn whisper-shouted after him. Slade didn’t respond to the joke, going instead to store his armor and clean off his sword. The girl’s words, irritatingly enough, were sticking, and Slade couldn’t shake away that one thought.

_Maybe this is your opportunity to make it better._

Or maybe, this was his opportunity to screw up worse.

Either way…

He took one of the table chairs, carrying it into the bedroom and setting it close to the bed. He turned on the fan and made sure the blinds were shut.

Either way, things were going to change, for better, or for worse.

Much, much, worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have given myself a concussion banging my head off the table while writing this way too long chapter which has been published way too late.  
> As always, great appreciation to all you readers who'll probably be in your hundreds by the time this book is finally done. You're all wonderful, amazing people, and I love hearing your comments, questions, and even critiques.


	7. Tell Me That It's Real

_Ridge Point Complex, Apartment 307, Star City_

Reality slowly forced its way into his body and mind, bringing with it, a wave of dulled pain from the bruises and wounds that littered his body. Instinct kept his eyelids shut, even as Oliver’s senses came into full wakefulness. He heard the distant noises of a city, cars honking and driving through streets that sounded far away. He hadn’t been able to hear that in the cell. There was also a noise that was much more comforting than the urban bustle he could never quite get used to after returning. Rain rattled softly against the window.

Cool air buffeted his skin, a soothing and gentle caress that caused neither discomfort nor chill, but lulled him to relaxation and he sensed there was a fan located above him. Coupled with the comfort of the firm mattress underneath him and the calm quiet, the tranquility threatened to pull Oliver back to sleep, and he fought it.

His mind seemed reluctant to come out of rest, and for a long moment, he merely lay there, feeling the brush of cool air, listening the life that was still so distant. But soon, that peace was gone, his brain began to work through his last memories and struggled to comprehend what had happened. One question blossomed in the forefront of his thoughts.

_Where am I?_

His last memory was of the fight against Talia’s students in the hallway. What had happened after, he wasn’t sure. But someone, or something, must have intervened the fight, or else he wouldn’t be here.

But who had brought him here, what had happened, was here safe? His breathing deep, Oliver continued to feign sleep and rolled his head to the side, body sliding fractionally as he adjusted his position. To the casual eye, it was a movement done in sleep, and he hoped it hadn’t drawn attention. Taking a risk, he cracked his eyes open to narrow slits, the blurriness that greeted him eventually settling into finer shapes, still rough as he refused to open his eyes further and risk detection.

From his limited view, the room seemed to be the interior of some cheap apartment. It was small, a white painted wall about three feet away from the edge of the bed. As he lay there, Oliver sensed the presence of someone nearby.

The question was who.

He was positive it wasn’t Chase. He would have had no reason to bring Oliver to a more comfortable room, or tend to his injuries. But at the same time, he doubted that this had been the team. Unless Evelyn had found a way to reach out, there was no logical way any of them would have known where to go.

It was the same for Barry’s team and the Legends, even if they were aware of the situation. Also, the room he was in now seemed to rule out anyone who had a connection to ‘Team Arrow’, as if that had been the case, he wouldn’t be in such an unfamiliar place. As his mind flashed through options, he refused to think about the last two times he had been pulled out of a tricky situation by a previously unknown factor.

Even as he systematically ruled out options, Oliver remembered Evelyn’s words some time ago. She had mentioned someone else, someone Oliver knew, but that fact gave him little comfort.

Whoever it was, Oliver had little choice but to face them. Whether they were friend or enemy, he couldn’t feign sleep forever. Casting aside the façade, he pushed himself up, left arm supporting his weight. His right shoulder still throbbed from the arrows Chase had shot into him, and he was wary to use it.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed, straightening and waiting a moment to steady himself. An IV line tugged at his skin, but Oliver ignored it in favor of turning his head to study the room, searching out his unknown savior.

His heart missed several beats before coming back in a fast, painful rush, throbbing frantically inside his chest. The needle was wrenched out of his arm as Oliver shot to his feet despite his injury, leg threatening to buckle as he backed up. His movement dislodged a pillow, which in turn knocked over the quiver full of arrows which fell with a clatter.

The other man stood quickly, knocking over his chair, maybe started by Oliver’s own fast moment, and the archer’s instincts immediately screamed at him to find an escape. But a wave of nausea and dizziness, coupled with the shakiness from his injured leg forced Oliver to reach out for support, hands tightening on the frame of the bed as the room spun. Slade stepped forward then froze. Weaponless, Oliver stared at the man he had believed dead, every fast breath sending shocks of pain through his body as his mind struggled to process what was happening. His thoughts worked quickly. There was a door behind him, he could get to it.

But for some reason, the rest of him didn’t listen to that little logical voice in the back of his head, and instead, Oliver felt as though the only thing he was able to do was stare at the man across from him.

“Slade?” His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. This couldn’t be real, he had to be dreaming or hallucinating, god knows it wouldn’t be the first time he had dreamt up the Australian.

Slade held out both empty hands slowly, he met Oliver’s gaze calmly. His voice was quiet when he spoke, pitched low and rumbling with the familiar accent which sounded so strange to hear in reality once more.

“S’alright, kid, I’m not going to hurt you, sit down.”

Oliver slowly sunk back down, sitting on the very end of the bed, as far away from Slade as possible. The other man also returned to his seat, righting the chair he had toppled in his hasty movement.

Not trusting himself to speak, Oliver turned to stare at the spot in his arm where blood was seeping through after the needles rough exit. He heard a soft creak as Slade shifted in his chair and looked up quickly, watching Slade closely as the man dropped a still packaged gauze pad on the bed between them. The archer leaned forward and picked it up, ripping open the paper and pulling out the pad, pressing it against the puncture.

In the following quiet, Oliver studied Slade’s features. He looked…the archer hesitated to think _older_ because, despite the few grey hairs that littered his longer, smoother coal black hair, age hadn’t seemed to quite catch up to him. Oliver wanted to think this was real, and he looked for any sign that might prove that. His face might have gained a few more lines, his beard grown fuller, but the features were the same. Except for one, jarring difference.

The black eyepatch seemed so wrong, so out of place, subconsciously, his right hand, the arm he had driven that arrow with, clenched, guilt welling up inside of him. Struggling with that unwelcome emotion, Oliver looked down at his arm again, lowering the gauze.

“How do you feel?” Slade inquired as the silence stretched on. Oliver couldn’t find a response to the question.

“You’re not dead,” the words tasted bitter, his throat felt hoarse and dry, he tried to cough to clear it. He missed the small flinch drawn from the other man as Slade straightened and turned away. Oliver found himself unable to look at the Australian, and instead, he turned his focus to looking around the room. The bed was pushed into one corner in an obvious attempt to conserve space. The closet, a few feet away from the end of the bed, was a small alcove, currently empty, with a set of drawers built into the lower half. The door leading out of the room was only slightly open, but from his angle, Oliver could still see through.

In the next room and to the left there was a couch pressed against the far wall, on it, he could see a small, still form which he quickly recognized as Evelyn, curled into a tight ball and fast asleep. Her shoulder moved with her breath, proof of life and in a natural, healthy rhythm. He could see a small table as well, over to the right and guessed the kitchen and living area were directly connected.

In the same corner as the first, but on a different wall, there was another door, this one shut, which Oliver assumed lead to a bathroom. As his quick examination came to an end, his eyes wandered back to Slade as the other man faced him again, offering a plastic bottle of water.

Hesitantly, Oliver took it, twisting the cap off, listening to hear the seal snap. He lifted it to his lips, letting a small sip of water pass through before lowering the bottle once more, his other hand playing with the cap.

“What happened?” maybe it was his tiredness, but the words weren’t as sharp as his last statement. He spoke quietly, and though there was still no open emotion in his tone, there was also no hostility. Oliver’s brain had stopped trying to make sense of what had happened, Instead, he found himself pulled towards a grey haze of mental exhaustion. “How…how are you here?” There was an unspoken _why_ that haunted his words.

“The Mirakuru,” Slade replied, and Oliver tried not to flinch at the word. “It kept me alive, I suppose. I was still trapped in part of the freighter when I woke, some trapped air had kept the half I was in from sinking. I pulled myself out and started swimming.” It was a short rendition of a long explanation that sounded as if Slade had rehearsed it many times.

Oliver tried to think of a reply, and even though his brain was packed with things he wanted to say, the only word he managed was a quiet; “Oh.” His gaze fell down to the white sheets, avoiding eye contact. He let out a short breath and quiet fell again. Oliver turned his attention to studying the bandages with unnecessary care. All of the injuries had been treated and covered skillfully, and realistically, there was no reason for him to give each one such a careful scrutiny. But it gave him an excuse, one to avoid looking up. He could feel Slade still watching him and was desperate to not meet his gaze again.

Oliver’s chest ached, a dull throbbing pain he blamed on the arrows and blowtorch. “Why are you _here_?” This time, the pause was so long, he thought the other man wasn’t going to answer. Then, finally, he did.

“I’ve visited your city a few times,” Slade admitted. Oliver looked up at him sharply. “There never seemed to be a good time to reveal myself.” The archer let his head drop into his hands, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting him.

“But now was?” he asked, voice barely audible. The Australian shifted in his seat.

“I didn’t exactly think over the consequences,” he admitted. “I heard about your disappearance and came to check. I wasn’t sure of the situation and found Evelyn was already looking for your location.”

“What about the Mirakuru?” he asked, worry striking him. “Did it eventually wear out?” Slade looked down at the quiver, selecting an arrow at random. He pulled it out by the nock, laying the broadhead in his other hand and clenched it into a fist. The movement was sudden and the archer gave a noise of surprise, making a move forward, expecting to see blood running from the other man’s clenched hand. But there was none.

“No.” Slade opened his hand, revealing the shattered pieces, some of them barely larger than a grain of rice. He turned to the small bedside table, tipping the remains onto its surface. “I learned to live with it.” Oliver’s posture sagged, the sudden burst of adrenaline tiring him even further.

“I thought you were dead.” _I thought I had killed you._ “I never thought it could heal something so severe.” Slade shrugged.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. Then, “I am sorry.” Oliver blinked, looking up to watch the other man’s face, he was fairly certain he had never heard the Australian say those words before. Slade was looking off somewhere to the left, not meeting his eyes. “Though that doesn’t change the current situation…” he trailed off, obviously searching for words.

 _What are you apologizing for?_ Something screamed inside of Oliver’s head. _For the Mirakuru induced rage or pretending to be dead?_ He shoved away the unwelcome pettiness, but couldn’t find any words to say. He let his head sink into his palm, all of this was too much to figure out.

A gust of wind blew rain against the window, rattling the glass as if miniscule pebbles were being tossed against the pane. Above, footsteps creaked through the floorboards as someone in the apartment upstairs moved across the room.

“Kid,” Slade’s voice interrupted the silence, unnaturally loud after the long minutes of quiet. Oliver lowered his hand, barely able to force himself to look up again.

“It’s been _eight years_ , Slade,” he whispered, almost inaudible. He saw something in the other man’s face, but it was gone before he could recognize it.

“I know.”

“Eight years of you being dead,” Oliver rephrased. “I thought I killed you.” He didn’t want to mention what had happened after that, the countless nights where the other man had haunted his dreams in an array of images. The nights he had woken up, almost calling out to a past figure. He didn’t speak of any of it.

“You have every right to be angry,” Slade put in quietly. “If you want me to leave, I will.”

“No, I don’t and I’m not,” Oliver almost snapped, more annoyed at himself. He took a moment, settling the pain that had crashed over him. “I made the choice to inject you, I put an arrow into your eye.” He winced, there was probably a better way to phrase that. “I share just as much fault in the whole thing.” He could see from Slade’s expression he didn’t agree.

“You did what you had to survive,” the other man corrected. “And surviving is what’s important.”

“I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. I’d be dead, at least twenty times over,” Oliver gave a vague gesture to himself. “Today as well.” His eyes shut, tiredness washing over him like a wave, but the archer pushed it back. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, that wasn’t _you_.” He looked down at his forgotten water, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink, the gesture more to give himself something to do. Slade was quiet for a long moment, and Oliver didn’t have anything else he could think to add.

“You should rest,” the Australian said, causing the archer to look up at him. “It’s still early, you have a lot to think about in the morning.” Oliver nodded, glancing around the room to try to locate some sort of clock. Translating the gesture, Slade gestured to a small device on the side table, out of sight from Oliver’s position on the end of the bed. Moving, the archer was able to see the digital numbers reading _0400._

“Yeah,” he screwed the cap back onto the water, bottle a little less than half full. Slade stood, and Oliver immediately looked up at him.

“You’re doing better than you were earlier,” he said as some sort of explanation. “I’ll be in the kitchen, give you some space.” Oliver didn’t voice any of the turmoil inside of him, the sudden fear that if Slade left, he wouldn’t come back, he would be just another illusion.

 _Please be real._ “Okay.” He reached over to set the bottle on the bedside table as Slade left, closing the door behind him, Oliver stared at the white painted surface. Everything was white, he thought dully. The door, the walls, the sheets, even the bed frame and side table. He looked over at the wooden chair, its dark color stood out against the rest of the room.

Exhausted, he crawled further up the bed and lay down on his back, unable to put pressure on either shoulder. He wasn’t awake for long, soon taken by sleep.

_Suffocating darkness pressed around him, he was trapped under the surface in cold, heavy water. Oliver looked up, there was light above, filtering through the azure world, flickering with the movement of the waves. It was quiet, calm, and slowly, he lifted his arms to stroke downward, pushing himself towards the surface. He rose slowly, breath held until…_

_He stopped, unable to move further. Oliver struggled, his arms were impossible to lift. He looked down, manacles encircled his wrists, the chains stretching into the darkness below. He struggled against them, trying to break free, but they wouldn’t give. He felt a tug and suddenly, the chains were pulled him down into the darkness, unyielding and hard. He fought frantically, hands scrabbling to undo the locks. He couldn’t get them undone and was dragged further, black water swallowing him._

_Abruptly, he was on the ground. He stared up into Chase’s face as the man crouched down, speaking to him. “How many people are you going to die because of you, Oliver? How long until you wake up and see who you really are?” He couldn’t force his lips to move, to form words, and tried to look away, tried to push upward._

_“Kid!” The voice seemed to echo around him, but Oliver couldn’t see who had spoken._

_“Oliver…” it was Laurel, the voice he recognized anywhere, she stared down at him through lifeless eyes, blood spilled over the hand she held to her side.“Why did you ever come back?” He thrashed violently as Chase returned, blowtorch in hand._

_“You’re a disease, Oliver, you infect every life you touch, how long until there’s no one else left?” the pain blossomed, red hot and Oliver lashed out, fighting to escape to make his way up-_

“Oliver!” Slade’s voice came through the water, a hand gripped his bicep and Oliver jerked awake, instinctively snatching the wrist of the offending hand, grip tight as he gasped for air. His chest heaved, heart pounding furiously and he tried to settle it, remnants of the dream clinging to him like cobwebs. “Oliver,” Slade repeated his name, free hand coming up and hesitating a moment before settling on his other arm, grip grounding. It forced Oliver to face him, the Australian less than a foot away, concern etched in his features. On his part, Oliver’s blue eyes were tinged with a wild panic, flashing over the other man’s face as his brain worked to catch up. “Can you hear me?” Slade asked, obviously searching for some sort of acknowledgment.

“Yeah. It-it’s fine,” Slade stepped back, giving him space and releasing his arms, and Oliver slumped against the headboard, head falling back, his eyes dropping shut. He felt exhausted. Natural light filtered through the thin blinds, illuminating the room warmly and giving a rough estimate of the time.

Slowly, he turned his head to stare at the clock. _0719_ He closed his eyes again, knowing that sleep was out of the question.

“How long has it been?” Oliver asked suddenly. “Since I’ve…been gone.”

“Eleven days,” Slade replied without thought. “You’ve been here just about eight hours. Chase had you for ten days.” An unexpected nausea swept over Oliver and he pushed himself out of bed abruptly, willing his leg to stand as he stumbled into the small bathroom, collapsing onto the floor next to the toilet as a violent spell of dry heaves overtook him, his body struggling even though it had nothing to expel.

There were footsteps behind him, and as Oliver pitched forward, Slade grabbed onto his arms once more, sinking to the floor behind the archer, pulling him back enough to keep him relatively straight. The Australian wasn’t prepared for Oliver to simply go limp, falling back against him. The archer couldn’t force himself to move, his head hung forward, fighting away the queasiness. His eyes closed for a moment as he sat there, back against the other man’s chest, Slade’s hands still cautiously cupped around his arms.

“I need to get to the office,” Oliver said suddenly, voice holding little conviction. He straightened, pulling out of Slade’s grasp, and the other man released him quickly, almost snatching his hands back. Slade opposed the spoken idea immediately.

“What you need to do is recover,” he argued. “You can barely stand, you don’t need to be in an office all day.” Oliver looked down at the offending leg with a grimace, knowing it would take precious time to heal.

“The team probably thinks I’m dead,” Oliver replied through gritted teeth. “There’s no telling what Chase has done in my absence. Sitting here isn’t an option.” He reached up until his fingers curled around the edge of the counter and he pulled himself up, balancing on his good leg, Slade moved with him, but to the archer’s unspoken relief, he didn’t reach out to help.

“You’ve been through hell, kid, you can’t just shake the last ten days off,” the older man was staring at him with something so dangerously close to sympathy that Oliver felt a sudden stab of unreasonable anger. He didn’t need pity.  

“There are higher priorities at the moment,” he said, voice clipped, and something in his tone must have shut down Slade’s next argument because although the man’s nod was a little stiff, he didn’t press the matter. Oliver felt a little guilty knowing immediately that the Australian was hesitant to actually argue. It contrasted what he remembered of Slade’s personality. He was trying not to overstep, Oliver realized.

“You can get cleaned up,” Slade said, turning his back on the small room. “I’ll get you a change of clothes from your apartment.” Once again, Oliver felt that discomforting sensation of remorse. Part of him wanted to call out to the man who had once been a friend, to apologize for so many things, to be honest, but he didn’t. It wasn’t right to, and Oliver didn’t know how. Instead, he nodded, not even knowing if Slade saw the movement.

The door closed behind the older man, and Oliver let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the wall. For a moment, he gave himself that, just a brief second to not move, a short time to breathe. ‎ _Акула,_ _которая_ _не_ _плавает,_ _тонет_. The words Anatoly had spoken came back to him, and Oliver shook his head as if trying to banish them. For ten years, he had forced himself to move forward, even as he slowly sunk deeper.

And now, he wasn’t sure how much air he had left to breathe before the dark waters drowned him.

**XxxX**

Slade left the bedroom, his carefully blank expression belying the boiling emotions that churned inside of him. Nothing could have prepared him for the utter self-abhorrence that came every time he even so much as glanced at Oliver, every time he met the blue eyes, every time they stared back with that broken, haunted look.

Nothing could have prepared him for his own irrational fear that if he even so much as touched Oliver, he would hurt him again. Nor was he ready for the guilt or the feeling of floundering as he struggled to find things to say and do. It was his own cowardice that had kept Slade from revealing himself to Oliver for all those years. He was too afraid to face the archer’s inevitable hatred. But now he was here, and it was worse than he would have thought.

It would have been easier if Oliver hated him, if the younger man held blame against him for every fuck up Slade had managed to achieve, even before the Mirakuru. If Oliver had been furious to see him, refused to talk to him, wanted him to leave, he could have handled that.

But he didn’t know how to handle this. Oliver was as easy to read as a puddle of mud in a snowstorm, and Slade had no idea what he was supposed to do. The archer seemed to refuse to blame him for what he had done during his Mirakuru induced rage and Slade couldn’t understand that. But at the same time, maybe without realizing it, he also saw Slade as a potential threat.

Slade had _despised_ himself for everything that had occurred during that time. He still did, and he couldn’t accept any forgiveness for his actions. He closed his hands loosely, they felt odd after holding onto Oliver. He could still feel the weight and warmth of the other pressed against him when he had collapsed just a few minutes earlier.

“How is he?” Evelyn was sitting upright on the couch, undoubtedly woken by Oliver. The nightmare had caused him to make a ruckus, thrashing around, hurling a pillow into the wall and even shouting aloud. Slade hesitated before answering the question, not having any honest and certain response.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted quietly. The girl gave a small ‘oh’ and looked down at the coffee table, hands picking at her sleeves absentmindedly. “He’ll need some time,” Slade added.

“Staying here?” Evelyn prompted. The Australian shook his head.

“He wants to go to the office,” he said. She frowned but nodded again. Slade considered the girl for a moment, her brown hair tousled into a mess, young face set in a serious expression. She shouldn’t have been involved in this, he thought. Oliver shouldn’t have been involved in this. But the world had a way of taking things and tearing them to pieces. “You’ll have to consider what you want to do next,” he added. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” Evelyn said. There was a genuine gratitude to the single word, and Slade guessed she wasn’t near as confident about facing all of Oliver’s team again as she had acted. Not sure of how to respond to the appreciation, Slade merely shrugged it away, he was out into the streets within the next couple minutes, started towards Oliver’s apartment.

**XxxX**

_Arrowcave, Star City_

“There was an underground explosion in the Glades?” John stared at the computer screen, tired brain struggling to process this information. “Anyone hurt?” Curtis gave a negative gesture, shaking his head as he turned in slow circles in his chair.

“Nope, no one was on the scene,” he reported. “Also, the police are saying it could have simply been the building finally giving out, it’s been unstable for years. We don’t have any proof this was Chase,” he added, seeming to sense Diggle’s next question.

“Wouldn’t make sense,” Digg agreed, then, he grimaced. “Although it usually doesn’t until after he achieves his motive.” He clapped Curtis on the shoulder. “Keep on it, this might be important. Dinah is going with Quentin and Rene to the town office in about an hour.”

“Quentin’s making a statement?” Curtis asked. John nodded grimly.

“I think we have to accept Oliver’s not going to be coming back anytime soon,” he said quietly. “If at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me posting two chapters in a week is almost unheard of, but after how many weeks of inactivity...yeaah. As always, leave your thoughts and comments.


	8. In the Public Eye

Oliver adjusted his suit jacket sleeves for what must have been the thousandth time, unable to hide the white bandages. If he stretched his arm forward, the sleeve would pull back. He would have to avoid such movements. He stood still for a long time, not sure what he was looking at, his mind in a grey, hazy state.

Slowly, Oliver smoothed the material, forcing his eyes to focus and his body to move. He turned the doorknob, opened the door and stepped through into the living space beyond. Slade was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. Oliver didn’t miss the way the Australian looked at him, as if expecting him to collapse at any given second. It almost felt as though he had uttered some sort of challenge, and subconsciously, Oliver straightened his shoulders, drawing himself a little more upright. If the Australian noticed, he didn’t seem to pay the small gesture any mind.

“City Hall’s about twenty minutes’ drive from here,” he commented. “No matter what you do, you appearing there will make quite a scene.”

“The scene will be when people start asking for an explanation,” Oliver corrected. He paused, that thought bringing a nasty tirade of problems to the front of his mind. “And I have no idea what I’m going to tell them.”

“Chase made it look as though the Green Arrow attacked your apartment,” Evelyn seemed to materialize out of the kitchen holding a microwavable cup of oatmeal. “The news and board tore into that.”

“That may be hard to disprove,” Slade said.

“It might be a bad idea to try,” Oliver replied. “Especially if I can’t offer a ready explanation as for why Prometheus would go after the mayor.” Without conscious realization, his eyes flickered over to Slade, trying to read the man’s expression. He seemed to agree with what Oliver had said. His attention was momentarily taken as Evelyn pulled out a chair with her foot and sat down.

“Microwave's working?” Slade sounded surprised. The girl immediately shook her head.

“No, it made really weird noises when I touched it, I thought it might explode. This is just water and oats. If it’s edible hot, it must be edible cold.” Evelyn replied, then added more to herself. “Change it up a little anyway.” Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding not to continue the subject.

“Do you know what you want to do?” he asked, looking towards Evelyn. She stirred her cold ‘oatmeal’ several times staring at it instead of making eye contact. In the sudden silence that dropped, Slade pushed himself off the wall and wandered further into the apartment. Oliver pulled out a chair opposite Evelyn, sitting down with a silent grimace of pain. “Haven’t thought about it?” he asked, voice unintentionally softening. The brunette shrugged, setting down her cup.

“I have, a lot, I mean, it’s kind of hard not to,” she muttered. “I just don’t know how…” she cast a glance at Oliver, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away again. “How welcome I am right now.” Oliver nodded his understanding.

“Evelyn, everyone makes a mistake at some point,” he said reassuringly.

“Like siding with a psychopath intent on wreaking misguided revenge on the Green Arrow?” Evelyn inputted sarcastically. Oliver shrugged.

“Trust me, I have a lot of stories, this whole thing isn’t easy, and it’s not simple. I’ve chosen the wrong side far too many times,” he replied. “It gets complicated, sometimes this life isn’t as black and white as we’d like it to be, there’s a lot of greys mixed in. And I will admit, I have done things that I don’t expect anyone to support, or forgive.”

“I still shouldn’t have worked with him,” Evelyn said flatly.

“You made a choice, and then, you decided it was the wrong choice, and what you did after,” he gestured around. “I probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. But you’re still very young to be mixed up in all this, you have every right to leave and start-”

“No,” she stopped him midsentence. “Slade said that already, I am not leaving this. I am seeing this through to the end, no matter how people react.”

“Well, that’s not an argument I’m going to win,” Oliver commented dryly. “It sounds like your mind is pretty made up. I’m not going to make an announcement about you to the team,” he saw the momentary relief pass through her eyes. “You can face them whenever you’re ready if you even want to come back.” He paused, then inclined his head slightly. “On my part, I think we could really Artemis out there.”

Oliver stood, he wasn’t sure how much of what he said was entirely true. He did believe that Evelyn had done more than just redeem herself for her betrayal, but he still felt uneasy about the idea of facing the team, and even worse about bringing them back into this fight against Chase. Maybe it would be better if he just took it on alone.

He was shaken out of his thoughts as Slade joined them again, looking at Oliver expectantly, the archer nodded once and the two of them started out the door. They walked down a concrete stairwell, Slade ahead by a few steps. Oliver moved slowly, one hand holding onto the railing at all times. It was easier than going up, he found himself reasoning. But his eyes were still fixed on the grey stairs, taking them one at a time. Once, his leg threatened to buckle, and he grabbed onto the rail with both hands, a small exclamation escaping him.

Immediately, Slade turned, but the archer gave a small shake of his head, moving on through sheer force of will more than anything else. He made it three more steps before his leg crumpled and his foot slipped off the stair edge. He floundered, off balance and pitched forward. Suddenly, Slade was there, catching him before Oliver could hit the cement. He slid an arm under Oliver’s and casting aside his pride, the archer leaned into him, hobbling down the last two flights. When they reached the landing, the Australian stepped back and Oliver found his balance.

“Thanks,” Oliver wasn’t quite able to make eye contact, but Slade didn’t seem interested in the gratitude.

“Cars a couple blocks down,” he said instead, and they started walking again, this time Oliver mentally berating himself for his pathetic inability to get down a set of stairs. The silence was uncomfortable as they walked, Oliver missing the small glances Slade constantly threw over his shoulder. It was several minutes before they reached the sleek black car parked down a back alley.

The electronic lock clicked, and the two opened the car doors almost simultaneously, stepping into the cool interior. Oliver had barely closed his door when the Australian spoke up from the seat next to him.

“You sure you’re up for going to City Hall?” Slade’s question took him by surprise, and Oliver immediately looked towards him, guard rising, expecting a skeptical comment to follow. The steady, unwavering gaze didn’t show any sign of cynicism, however, and the honest concern that the archer saw instead effectively shattered any barriers he was trying to erect. He looked down at his hands, curled into loose fists on his lap. Suddenly, the world seemed small, Star City was miles away. It was as if that car was a lifeboat, floating alone in the middle of the ocean. It was just him and Slade, no one else seemed to exist.

“No,” his voice was small, and he spoke with utter honestly, not even attempting a lie or cover up. “I’m not. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to face all those people.” He stopped talking abruptly, feeling as though he had dropped something precious, when he spoke again, his voice was a little sharper. “Chase may not know I’m out, he probably knows nothing about you. We need to use that element of surprise while we have it.”

The car ignition started, and Oliver uncurled his hands, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his pants, for a moment, they didn’t move, then Slade turned to look at the archer once again, the movement, drawing Oliver’s eyes to him.

“I suppose shooting, stabbing or otherwise maiming Chase in a public area is currently off the table?” he inquired. Oliver didn’t know why he laughed. It was small, scarcely disturbing the air around him.

“For now,” he said. “That might not sit well with the city council.”

“More’s the pity.”

**XxxX**

“Mr. Mayor!” the whispers and stares started as soon as Oliver walked through the doors. Councilwoman Emily Pollard was the first to hail him directly, however, her expression a picture of shock as she stopped mid-step. Oliver also stopped as she hurried over, heels clipping sharply off the marble floor. “You’re back!”

“You sound surprised,” Oliver commented. _And somewhat displeased._ He didn’t add the thought. Pollard certainly wasn’t one of his greatest allies.

“We were preparing to announce a public notice of death,” the councilwoman replied, not skirting around the topic. “Eleven days in far too long for any city official to be absent without explanation. Especially with the circumstances surrounding your own disappearance. The city deserves an official announcement immediately.” Oliver heard Slade’s quiet mutter behind him and assumed whatever the man had just said wasn’t complimentary. The Australian had refused to let Oliver go into City Hall alone, and trailed a couple steps after him, taking on the appearance of a personal security attachment.

“And I am willing to make one,” Oliver replied smoothly, his answer seemed to surprise Pollard, and momentarily, she was lost for words.

“You’re willing to make a public statement?” she asked, disbelief evident.

“Yes.” There was no uncertainty in Oliver’s tone. “I’ve already asked a camera crew to be present, they’re gathering the necessary supplies now.” That seemed enough to reassure the councilwoman as she left, the archer turned to face Slade, taking a step closer to him and dropping his voice.

“If you pin this on your green persona, people will be clamoring for justice,” the Australian commented, voice quiet. Oliver had already considered the consequences closely.

“I don’t have any other choice,” he said, just as quietly. “I need you to trust me and let me do this, I know this place and the people, I can handle it.” Slade nodded, and Oliver let go of the breath trapped inside of him, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, let’s go.” He was halfway to the door when an all-too-familiar voice stopped him.

“Mr. Mayor, welcome back,” he turned to see Adrian Chase, the man standing not far away from him, wearing a twisted smile. “You must have had a rough couple days.” Forcing his feet to move, Oliver walked towards him, nausea twisting his stomach. Chase held out a hand and reluctantly, the mayor shook it. He released contact almost immediately, snapping his hand back. He saw the corner of Chase’s mouth lift at the gesture.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he pitched his voice low so that it wouldn’t carry. Oliver wasn’t interested in playing games or pretending any more than he had to. The man in front of him simply seemed amused.

“Not as surprised as I was to hear Pollard yelling your name,” Chase commented. “Who swooped in to save you?” He didn’t give Oliver time to answer the question. “I’m assuming someone did, after all, it’s not as if you could have gotten out alone.” Oliver’s anger flared at the man’s arrogance.

“This isn’t over,” he promised.

“I hope not,” the man replied. “I’m looking forward to our next interactions, are you still going treat your friends like pawns? Little Sharpie came running back, didn’t she? Now what horrible fate do you think she’ll come to?” Oliver didn’t reply, teeth clenching tightly as he fought down the urge to attack Chase. Arrest on account of insanity or violent impulses was the last thing he needed. Chase chuckled. “We’ll see, won’t we.” He clapped Oliver on the shoulder and the archer couldn’t fight back the small noise of pain that escaped him. “And I’ll see you around, Mr. Mayor.”

**XxxX**

“Coffee,” Curtis appeared next to Felicity’s chair with a cardboard cupholder, offering one of the travel cups to the bottle blonde. She took it, spinning away from her computer and taking an appreciative sip. Curtis sat in the chair opposite him, taking his own cup. “You know, I think we more than double the suggested daily caffeine intake,” he commented. She didn’t give a reply, not feeling up for any sort of banter or conversation. “So, no luck?”

“What do you think?” she asked. “Even if I had taken this to Helix I doubt they would have gotten further. We can’t even be sure Oliver’s alive.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I just can’t accept this is how all this ends.”

“It’s not,” Diggle stepped up onto the dais, the rest of the team trailing into the room behind him. “Even if Oliver doesn’t come back, we’re not going to let his legacy fade. We will continue the same fight Oliver fought, the same mission he brought us all into.”

“Make Chase pay,” Rene added. Diggle nodded.

“Not only that. We’re vigilantes, we have a responsibility to this city. Oliver would want us to believe in that even if he weren’t around,” he stated. There was a chorus of agreement, and, dull as it was, there was a determination to it as well. “But for now,” Diggle looked towards Quentin. “Aren’t you supposed to be at City Hall?” Lance nodded, holding up a plain folder.

“I’ve written an official announcement,” he said grimly. “I’m giving it this morning at ten.”

“Rene and I will go with him,” Dinah spoke up. “I’m assigned as a security detail, Rene’s his assistant, it won’t raise any questions.”

“Good,” Diggle said, he turned to Felicity and Curtis. “I’m going to ask the two of you to do one more sweep, see if you find anything, feel free to get a little rest first, you both need it.” They nodded, Felicity’s head was resting on the back of her chair and she stared blankly up at the ceiling. John cast around. “Thea,” the young woman looked at him quickly. “It’s not the best plan for you to go to City Hall.” She nodded acceptance.

“Then let’s go,” Dinah said. “You heard the man, we have things to do.” The group split, going off to their respective duties. John rubbed his hands together. Lyla had already given them ARGUS assets, even that hadn’t helped. They couldn’t find Oliver, and he couldn’t deny that somehow it was his fault. He had failed the man he called a brother.

**XxxX**

Slade had to accept that Oliver knew what he was doing. He wasn’t willing to insult the archer by attempting to step in, and so, he forced himself to step back and not interfere. He told himself that Oliver had survived enough years to be able to do this on his own, but he still longed to do whatever he could to make the task easier. He watched the archer turn around, shoulders squaring as he started towards the glass doors.

And he saw him stop almost immediately, entire body going rigid as a voice called out to him. Oliver shot him a look and a subtle hand gesture asking Slade stay back. There was a nervous fear in his expression that made Slade uneasy, and he almost moved forward nonetheless.

The archer walked away from him, however, taking the few steps necessary to close the space between him and a man Slade did not know, but recognized immediately. Adrian Chase held out a hand, smiling at Oliver with a sickening casualty. The archer had no option but to take his hand and shake it, letting go as quickly as possible. The Australian was too far away to hear their interaction. Catering to Oliver’s request, he didn’t move forward and turned away, subtly watching them out of the corner of his eye. He saw Chase’s hand settled on Oliver’s shoulder, undoubtedly irritating the injury hidden underneath his crisp suit top. It was only after the man walked away when Slade crossed to the archer’s side. Oliver stared after Chase, as Slade joined him, he seemed to force himself out of his thoughts.

The Australian knew better than to ask if Oliver was alright. He wasn’t, that was a fact. He had been tortured, mentally and physically for ten days, he was struggling with things that he refused to let Slade see, and after his brief moment of honesty in the car…

“Right behind you, kid,” he said. The archer looked at him. His too blue eyes swirled with so many complex things that Slade couldn’t even begin to fathom what he was thinking. But Oliver simply nodded and walked out the glass doors, facing the flashing cameras beyond without a single flinch. He accepted the small mic from an assistant, attaching it to his lapel and facing the news crew and people gathered on the steps.

The entrance of City Hall was packed with people, all of them staring at Oliver with varying degrees of surprise. And yet, the archer didn’t show any flicker of discomfort as he started speaking. “People of Star City, as I have been absent for eleven days, I am aware I owe you all an explanation. You have all heard the rumors that the Green Arrow attacked me in my apartment.” He paused but didn’t waver. “I can confirm those to be true.” There was a clamor of questions that he easily silenced, raising his voice to speak over them. Immediately, they died down, hanging on to his every word. “Whatever is the Green Arrow’s motive, I am not sure. I can inform all of you, however, that this vigilante is not to be trusted. He has gone completely rogue and should be considered a dangerous criminal.”

Once again, there was an unsettled murmur that ran through the crowd.

“Some weeks ago,” Oliver continued. “I did not release information I should have, that the death of Officer Billy Malone was the fault of the Green Arrow. We can now assume that no law or even no morals will stop this vigilante. There is no level to which he will not stoop to achieve his personal vendettas.” He paused again. “The Green Arrow is an enemy to Star City and to the public, and he will not be offered any leniency.” As his short speech came to an end, the reporters all bayed out their questions, hoping to receive answers.

Slade, standing still just outside the glass doors, hands clasped in front of him, scanned the crowd constantly, looking for any sign of danger. Oliver had already turned his back to the crowd, speaking quietly to a man dressed in a police captain uniform.

Slade was the first to see the car pull up the curb and see the group of three step out, all looking confused, even shocked. One of them started forward immediately at a fast pace. Slade saw the faint shape of a gun under his jacket and the Australian moved to intercept his path. Whoever the man, he appeared a threat, and the Australian had no desire to let him get anywhere close to Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made an official 'plan for future fics and WIPs' post that you can find here:  
> https://books-and-cats-and-coffee.tumblr.com/post/180755960299/ao3-progress-report .  
> It explains several things, including the new update deadline for this work.  
> As always, thanks for reading!


	9. Which Face is a Mask?

“People are going to expect you to step into Oliver’s position,” Dinah commented, looking up from the papers she had set in her lap. Quentin nodded grimly. He hadn’t been prepared for that.  Becoming deputy mayor was one thing, he had never imagined anything would happen to Oliver. After so many years of the man surviving, so much of which just seemed sheer luck, he had never considered anything could take Oliver out.

Rene glanced into the rearview mirror from his position in the driver’s seat. “We still have a few days before that, right?” he asked, clearly not regarding the idea warmly. Dinah nodded.

“Probably, this is a unique situation, Oliver’s not just the newest Robert Levy and people know that. This isn’t abandonment of office, it’s abduction from office,” she paused, then added. “Or close enough.” Quentin reached over to take the folder from her, studying the speech he had constructed. Even after pouring over it for hours, none of it felt right.

“Well let’s just hope the situation will change drastically in the next few days,” he said. “But we can’t put all our cards on that hope. Even if Oliver does return, he may not be in the best shape to return to office immediately.”

“That if’s getting bigger every day,” Dinah murmured. Quentin didn’t disagree, he flipped a couple pages, studying the lines of text and giving his mind something to do. Rene was the first to break the silence, unable to hold back any longer.

“I just can’t believe, after _everything_ this is going to be what gets Oliver!” he exclaimed suddenly. “He’s the Green Arrow! These things don’t just happen.”

“Green Arrow or Oliver Queen, he’s still human, Rene, there’s not some supernatural force turning away bullets and blades,” Dinah replied.

“I know that!” Rene snapped back. Quentin sighed to himself, putting down the papers and resigning himself. Arguments had become increasingly common after Oliver’s disappearance. Not only was there an absence of the archer calling for collective people to ‘shut up’ or ‘sit down’ when such things broke out, but everyone was already on edge.

“Let’s try to focus.” Quentin said, annoyance spiked by the pointless bickering.

“I’m just saying, how far ahead does Chase need to get before we start considering more physical responses?” Rene said. Dinah shook her head.

“They’re called _desperate methods_ for a reason, Rene, we can’t afford to make a wrong move now and bring the entire police force down on top of us.” She replied.

“Not yet,” Lance agreed. “Rene, we all want to see that son of a bitch behind bars-”

“Or in a coffin.” Rene interrupted. Quentin ignored the contribution.

“But there is a lot at stake.” He finished. “We can’t mess up.”

“At least, not any more than we already have,” Dinah inserted.

“Let’s get back to what we are actually doing, alright?” Quentin asked. “The City Board’s riled up, Pollard’s been encouraging that.” He scanned a piece of paper, reading through the words he had already memorized. “If we can-” The car slowed suddenly, and Quentin swore as the folder tumbled off his lap, its contents spilling onto the vehicle floor.

“Uh, guys?” Rene sounded shocked, and uncertain, as though he were trying to process something.

“Just park anywhere,” Dinah said, bent over as she helped Lance recover the spilled files. “It’ll be packed.”

“You two seeing this?” he asked, not answering Dinah’s statement. He glanced back, seeing them both still scrabbling for pages. “You might want to take a look at City Hall.”

“Can we ju- what the hell?” Dinah’s question died on her lips as the two of them followed Rene’s suggestion, looking out the car window towards the steps leading up to the entrance of City Hall. There was a sizable crowd gathered there, news reporters from various magazines, stations, and websites also lined the steps, and all of them were watching the man standing at the top of the steps, his words inaudible from their position.

Rene swerved into a spot across the street. The car engine had barely died before all three of them were out, ignoring the oncoming traffic in favor of half running across the street. Oliver didn’t seem to notice their approach, his attention diverted by the barrage of questions he was receiving. Dinah’s rationality caught up with her and she hesitated on the sidewalk, addressing the other two.

“We need to be careful. We have no idea how he’s here, Chase might have rigged something. I suggest-damnit Rene!” The other had not taken her advice, or even stayed to listen to it, and instead, made a rough beeline towards Oliver, hampered by the crowd. She looked through the crowd quickly, but saw no sign of a visible threat, and made her own way after him. Oliver seemed to have finished his talk, as he was just turning away from the crowd, talking to Councilwoman Pollard just outside the glass doors.

Lance walked with Dinah, seeming less worried about his surroundings and simply more focused on getting to Oliver. Seeing the other two so unconcerned, the woman realized her worries might have been ill-founded and cast them aside. Unfortunately, they were proven just a few seconds later. The movement close by Oliver caught her attention, and he eyes slide over to see a man stepping down into the crowd, his gaze settling on Rene with a dangerous precision. She calculated quickly. If both continued on their current paths, the man would easily cut Rene off before he reached Oliver. She leaned over to Lance.

“Eyepatch, coming in on Rene’s ten o’clock,” she didn’t wait to see if he saw the man, instead, she let her hand drop to the weapon concealed under her jacket, and started through the crowd, watching the potential threat carefully. She barely made it two steps before she was spotted. She felt the man’s gaze pass over her and saw the subtle change in his stance, making himself ready for any attack she might launch. None of them were within range to throw a punch, Rene still seemed oblivious to the danger, but Dinah knew instinctively that this man was no amateur. The heels of her shoes clipped off the pavement as she walked, her hand tight around the handle of her gun.

Finally, Rene saw her, and she jerked her head towards the man, not even concerned about him seeing the gesture. Rene’s eyes followed the gesture, his expression changing fractionally as he spotted the man. Instead of stopping, turning, or even going to join Dinah, he changed his path to head directly towards the stranger, going to his default method of approaching the threat head-on.

It would be an ugly collision, Dinah knew that immediately, and it wouldn’t be subtle, either. Even Lance was involved, skipping around the edge of the crowd and hurrying up the steps to get to Oliver while the two of them distracted the stranger.

Whether some noise, instinct, or simply, a habit, the archer’s eyes flicked over the crowd in a brief scan, passing over all of them without recognition before coming back to pick out Dinah and Rene. She saw his gaze shift, settling on the stranger, and at once, Oliver broke away from his conversation with Pollard, headed directly for the man.

She was a second from pulling out her gun when Oliver reached the man. Instead of attacking, he moved his hand, drawing the man’s attention as he touched the stranger’s arm lightly before withdrawing his hand, leaning forward to murmur something quietly to him. The stranger gave a small nod in response to whatever Oliver said.

It was such a logical possibility that Dinah rebuked herself for not considering it. She, Rene, and Lance all reached Oliver at the same time, all of them relaxing from their attack-ready states. As she drew close to the archer, Dinah finally saw the tiredness in his face, the dark shadows just visible under his eyes. She could see the white edge of a bandage on his wrists and quietly wondered how many injuries he had sustained. He looked exhausted in a way that was almost unsettling. Lance was the first to speak, looking Oliver over with poorly concealed worry.

“I want to ask what happened and not that it isn’t good to see you back, but you sure you’re up for being here right now?” the deputy mayor asked, obviously seeing the same things Dinah did. The archer gave a small shrug.

“I’ll live,” he said shortly. “And I can explain everything, but not here.”

It was an understandable statement, they were in the open, with reporters still looking for any opportunity to pounce on Oliver, and Quentin nodded towards City Hall. The small group started inside. The stranger waited a couple second before following, trailing some steps behind, Dinah watched him warily. They entered through the glass doors and managed to hail an elevator. A couple others were already inside, and Dinah didn’t miss the way the stranger subtly put himself in between them and Oliver as though he were shielding the archer. On his part, Oliver leaned back into the corner, a grimace passing over his features.

Rene’s arms were crossed as he openly eyed the stranger, a challenge obvious in his features although the man seemed to be ignoring him. The elevator seemed to rise with excruciating slowness, stopping at almost every floor before they were finally able to step off, walking towards Oliver’s office, it was only when they were inside that all of them felt secure, and Oliver wasted no time.

“Quentin, Rene, Dinah, this is Slade Wilson he’s an old…um friend from sometime back,” he slipped up, catching himself weakly but didn’t expound, quickly moving on before any of them had time to reflect on the words he stumbled over. “He got me out of the location Chase was holding me. Slade, this is Quentin Lance, deputy mayor, Rene Ramirez and Dinah Drake, both a part of the team.” The stranger’s gaze passed over them all as Oliver made introductions, Lance offered a hand to the stranger.

“Well, we’ll be glad for any additional help,” he said. “And any friend of Oliver’s is more than welcome.” It was polite, and Dinah sensed it was mostly genuine, but she could still read the underlying caution. The abrupt arrival of this ‘Slade Wilson’ took them all off guard. “Looks like you made an announcement to the press.” Quentin added, addressing Oliver. The archer gave a short nod.

“Yeah. With the current state this city is in, I couldn’t find anyway to take the blame off of the Green Arrow for the abduction,” he replied. “The idea that he’s running around inflicting havoc is going to worry people, a lot, and there will be backlash.”

“We’ve faced backlash before, hoss,” Rene put in determinedly. “And when we reveal Chase, people will be asking a lot more questions.”

“Do you have any idea what his next move might be?” Dinah asked.

“No,” Oliver shook his head. “He never mentioned anything.”

“We can get to that later,” Quentin cut in. “In the meantime, you might want to swing by the lair, things have been hectic the past few days and Felicity can catch you up. Thea came back about a week ago.” Oliver nodded, not appearing surprised by the news.

“There is something else,” he said, drawing their attention once more. “Susan Williams…” he trailed off and Dinah tried supplying helpful information.

“She disappeared from protective custody a few days ago,” she said. “No one’s seen her, or who took her, but we’re almost positive it was Chase.”

“She’s dead,” Oliver replied shortly, the abrupt news made them all pause. “Chase killed her.” There was so much unspoken weight behind the words, _where, why,_ and _how_ Chase had killed her, and Dinah knew the other two immediately picked up on the details Oliver had excluded.

“Her parents came into town,” Dinah hated herself for having to deliver the news. “After her disappearance, they’ve been checking in with the department quite regularly. We haven’t been able to give them any closure.” Oliver looked towards Slade Wilson who responded to Dinah’s statement. His words were thickened by a rich accent that she couldn’t quite place.

“We were not able to recover her body, the complex was destroyed,” he said.

“So that explosion in the Glades,” Rene asked suddenly. “That was you?” This time, the look Oliver gave Wilson was a little sharper.

“Our exit was messier than what would have been preferred,” the man remarked with an unreadable expression. Oliver’s hand moved towards his face before he cut off the movement, folding his arms in front of him. Even so, the aborted gesture brought Wilson’s eye to the archer, looking him over.

“You four should go,” Quentin stated. “I can cover things here, and its more important you speak to everyone.” Oliver nodded slightly.

“We’ll need to have a clear idea of what our next move is,” he agreed. Dinah sensed that wasn’t quite what Quentin had meant, but Lance wasn’t about to say the words ‘you need to rest’ aloud. And Oliver didn’t seem particularly open to hearing that suggestion.

**XxxX**

_The Arrowcave, Star City_

The chirp of Felicity’s phone startled both her and Curtis from their head-on-arms position in front of their respective computers. She rolled herself over, glancing at the caller id. She stared at the picture for Lance’s contact, Quentin next to both Sara and Laurel. Both of his daughters had fallen asleep after a hard night, Laurel’s head on his shoulder and Sara using her sister’s lap as a pillow. Quentin was engrossed in a book, the title hidden. Felicity loved that picture, it was a promise that happy moments could still come. Pushing down the desire to just sit and stare at it, she picked up.

“Hi Quentin,” she said. “We haven’t found anything. We’re no further than where we were. No new leads.” Diggle and Thea, who had started sparring with escrima sticks nearly an hour earlier, glanced towards her, hearing Lance’s name mentioned.

“Wasn’t going to ask,” Lance sounded strangely upbeat, and Felicity frowned. “Is everyone there? Can you turn the phone on speaker?”

“Yes, and one second,” she adjusted the setting, holding the phone off the surface of the table and waving John and Thea over. The two joined her in a moment, and Curtis rolled over from the other side of the dais. “Okay, shoot,” Felicity said.

“Rene and Dinah are headed to you right now,” Lance started. “Oliver’s with them.” A unanimous sigh of relief went up from all four of them, and a bit of Thea’s tight expression seemed to soften. Lance continued. “He’s could be…well, he’s not in the best shape, but he’s walking and talking. He’s bringing a friend, too.”

“Who?” Thea asked, expecting to recognize the name.

“A Slade Wilson,” Quentin replied. “I didn’t recognize him but he and Oliver seem to have some history.”

“The name isn’t familiar,” John agreed. “But if he’s a friend of Oliver’s, we shouldn’t have much to worry about.” There was a pained paused and Diggle rethought his statement. Occasionally, Oliver didn’t make the best decisions when it came to his friendships. After a moment, Lance spoke up again.

“Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up, so you weren’t completely off guard when they showed up. I’m working through the paper stuff here, it’s not much, Oliver looks like he needs some time off.”

“Thanks, Lance,” John said, sensing the man had to go. They hung up after jumbled farewells, and Felicity allowed herself to sink down in her chair, almost sliding out of it. Thea sat down on the steps, resting her head against her hands and breathing evenly. Everything suddenly felt lighter, and all of them were filled with enormous relief.

“So,” Felicity said. “Slade Wilson, anyone else curious for that story?”

**XxxX**

The trip to the lair seemed in ordinarily short. It scarcely seemed a couple of minutes before they were there, and walking through the abandoned rooms up top, into the elevator and started down. Oliver found himself staring vacantly at a random spot, unable to focus. The elevator doors slid open, and he was hailed by four, smiling faces.

“Lance called?” he guessed, stepping off. Immediately, a wave of claustrophobia swept over him. He cringed internally at the sight of the arrows on their racks, the vigilante masks staring down at him. Oliver’s skin itched, but he forced himself to keep walking forward.

“Just a few minutes ago,” John said from the dais. “It’s good to see you again.” Thea stood up, immediately rushing towards Oliver, mindful enough to not crash into him but gently reached up to wrap her arms around Oliver’s shoulders. The archer, pushing down every fear, returned the hug she offered, carefully wrapping his arms around her. He heard John walk past him.

“You must be Slade Wilson,” he said, shaking the Australian’s hand. “John Diggle.” Whatever Slade was thinking, it didn’t show, and the introduction passed cordially. The polite civility, however, did not last.

“Quentin mentioned you two had some history,” Felicity commented, then hurriedly corrected herself, unwittingly making the entire situation worse. “Not like history history, but that you knew each other, previously. Though you really don’t have straightforward relationships with people, not that I’m saying you two are in a relationship. Unless you are, which is totally fine.” She paused, blushing at the roots of her hair. “And I didn’t need to say any of that. I’m sorry. I’m going to go, get coffee.” Slade looked taken aback, looking at the bottle blonde with an almost alarmed expression as she clipped off without another word. Oliver’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile.

“That’s Felicity,” he said to the Australian.

“I am curious to know,” Diggle commented. “When did you two meet?” Oliver found his gaze travelling to a random spot, unsure of how to explain what had happened. Slade looked at him for a moment, expression steady before making a simple, quiet response.

“We met on Lian Yu,” he said. “I used to work for ASIS, Australian Intelligence. My partner and I were sent on a mission to the island, but our plane was shot down, giving us no way off. I was there about a year before Oliver washed up.” Oliver nodded, adding to the skeleton of an explanation Slade offered.

“Slade and I spent two years with each other there, he taught me a lot of what I know. There were some complications.” He picked up, skimming over the Mirakuru, none of them needed to know about that. Especially Diggle and Felicity. “We went our separate ways and didn’t expect to meet up again.” Dinah, Rene, and Curtis looked a little confused.

“Huh,” Diggle didn’t believe him. He saw it at once.

“More importantly, have there been any problems recently?” Oliver asked, prompting a subject change. Curtis took over, clicking open a few things.

“Yes, but not in the way of Chase,” he said. “We just had a problem with your Russian buddies. Or not buddies, rather.” He pulled up a video of a group of men raiding a warehouse, as the first few masked people went by, Anatoly Knyazev was easily recognizable, dressed in dark fur. They all moved closer to the display, gathering around on the dais.

“What did they steal?” Oliver asked, there was a dark note of anger in his voice. Curtis shot him a quick, almost nervous look before turning back to his work.

“That’s the thing, it’s a diabetes drug. It doesn’t make sense. We didn’t get a chance to check it out, yet, but nothing else was reported.” The archer’s face was hard. Slade studied the monitor.

“Isn’t that the Russian from the Amazo?” He asked. Oliver looked back, surprised he recognized Anatoly. He was sure the Russian would never forget Slade’s face. He nodded, confirming the belief.

“How are you on sleep?” Oliver asked.

“I just got a couple hours,” Curtis replied. “I’m good to go.”

“Alright. See if you can figure out any reason they would need it,” Oliver ordered. Curtis nodded, opening several programs. “Dinah, I need you to stay on as Quentin’s personal security. It’s impossible for us to know what opening Chase might take.” She nodded, exiting. “Rene, shouldn’t you be at City Hall as well?”

“Actually, Rene is unofficially banned from City Hall whenever Chase maybe there,” John stated, Oliver raised an eyebrow at him and he explained. “After Rene threatened to pop a cap in Chase’s ass.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t punch the DA,” Rene piped up.

“Thea’s also banned,” John added.

“You punched Chase?” Slade questioned, drawing the small brunette’s attention. Thea was steadfastly unregretful, not even cracking a smile as she looked at her brother, expression serious.

“Yes. I did,” she said, Slade grinned.

“I like her,” he said approvingly. Oliver looked between the two of them, he couldn’t even count the number of times he had wished he could have had the chance to introduce Slade to those close to him. Now, seeing the Australian and his sister already showing such a similar thought process and manner, Oliver wondered how different this all would have been if Slade had never overcome the Mirakuru.

It was an awful thought, a deep fear inside him. A sudden wave of tiredness sweeping over him. Trying to push off the feeling, and not ruin the delicately light mood that had settled, Oliver tried to make his response as natural as he could.

“Now that we’ve determined the two of you would probably topple Star City’s political system within a few seconds if left alone,” he started. “Rene, can you shadow Chase? Let us know if he leaves City Hall.” If he’s even still there. “Don’t attack him or make contact. In fact, stay out of the building.” A skirmish between the deputy mayor’s assistant and the DA was the last thing they needed right now.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Rene replied, he started towards the suits, then paused. “You want Wild Dog on that or me?”

“Suit up, stay out of sight,” Oliver responded. As the other started walking, he called him back again. “And Rene? Do _not_ engage.” He could see the disappointment flash in Rene’s eyes but knew he would follow the order. He had matured from the headstrong, foolish recruit Oliver had brought onto the team, and the archer was glad for it. “John, I’m going to need you as backup.” He added.

“Sure. But, are you up for this, Oliver? You even have your hood?” Diggle didn’t conceal his concern well.

“It’s too risky to bring the Green Arrow back quite yet,” Oliver said, the lie rolled easily off his tongue. “I’ll wait a week or so before bringing him back. We need to survey that warehouse, simple mission.” Diggle was struggling to find an argument, Oliver knew, but he wasn’t in the mood for constructive criticism. He had just turned when Slade’s voice stopped him.

“You’re not up for that, kid, you need to rest, you’re not going into the field.”

And just like that, the entire lair went dead quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tired. I am mad. This chapter felt like shit.


	10. The Choices We Make

Everyone in the lair froze, Rene, pulling his supplies from its display, almost dropped all of it as he turned around to watch. Slade Wilson had spoken the words that Diggle had been thinking, but there was a reason John would have never said such things aloud. In the past, there had been times Diggle had argued with a decision Oliver made, occasionally, the archer would hear him out, more often than not, however, he’d simply move on with his idea. When he made up his mind, Oliver was hard to deter, his stubbornness matched his skill level, maybe even exceeded it.

But what shocked Diggle the most was the tone that Wilson used, he wasn’t trying to argue, and there was no question in his voice. Instead, his words brooked no debate, they were more of an order than suggestion and Oliver never took orders. The seconds between Wilson’s words and Oliver replying seemed to drag as the archer turned to face him.

“Slade,” there was a warning in his voice, and his tone bordered on sharp. “I am not sitting back and waiting for Chase to make a move. We had this conversation. I am perfectly aware of what my capabilities are and a small recon mission is in no way beyond them.”

“You’re not in any shape to be jumping around rooftops,” Wilson replied. “Trust your friends to handle it. Use your head you’ve gone through enough in the past days without making it worse by rushing off and doing something dumb.” No one made any attempt to act inconspicuous, they all watched the two, remaining out of the argument but obviously still interested. At any moment, Diggle expected Oliver’s snap a response the archer had a bad habit of getting verbally aggressive in his disagreements. He never took advice, and John was concerned that Wilson didn’t know how shaky his ground was. He could already see the stubborn set in Oliver’s posture.

“Anatoly brought the Bratva to Star City, we need to know why,” Oliver replied shortly, the two of them seemed to be ignoring everyone else, locked in their private quarrel, each seeming to dare the other to back down, and each remaining unmoved.

“Kid.” It was one word, Wilson’s voice pitched quiet, the single syllable carrying more weight that Diggle could understand. Something in his tone reached the archer, because Oliver’s shoulders seemed to drop a little, and he pressed a hand against his temples, rubbing at a headache that was bothering him, his disagreement fading like dew in the sunlight.

“Curtis, go with John, I’ll talk to Felicity about running those searches once she gets back.” The archer addressed the group, hand going into his pocket as he finished speaking,

“Won’t be a problem,” John replied quickly, relieved that Oliver had veered away from the idea of going out himself. He gestured to Curtis and the latter left the computers to collect his gear. Oliver started away wordlessly, not investing more time into the conversation and none of them tried to stop him. Diggle, however, felt a twinge of concern as he watched the archer’s retreating form. He didn’t like the way Oliver was acting as though nothing had happened, whatever Chase had done to him, it had obviously affected the archer deeply, but as long as Oliver was staying quiet, there was nothing any of them could do.

**XxxX**

Slade stared after Oliver. He didn’t want to leave the archer on his own, there was a nagging instinct telling him to go after Oliver, but he wouldn’t cross over that line, Oliver wanted privacy. Slade knew he was already worn out from the past couple hours, but he doubted he was making his way to a quiet area to rest. It had been an eventful morning. He should have recognized Ramirez and Drake, he had read enough on them, after all, but seeing a potential danger walking towards Oliver had shut off the rational side of his brain, an unforgiveable offense.

Slade hadn’t wanted to get into an argument with Oliver, especially so soon after being reacquainted with each other. But Oliver had been malnourished and tortured, both physically and psychologically for ten days without any relief, and there were far too many disasters that could, and most definitely would occur if Oliver went out now. The younger man had always been stubborn, on the island, he had constantly tested Slade’s patience every time he ignored the Australian’s plan or advice and made his own path.

Admittedly, there had been times when he was in the right, when whatever path he picked was a good one. But there were also times when he’d get himself hurt, those times most often the result of Oliver trying to help someone else. Slade respected Oliver could make his own decisions, he had no desire to undermine that. It was obvious that the people he worked with were aware of just how impossible the archer could be.

Slade still felt regretful about the disagreement. He knew he had verbally _forced_ Oliver to the decision, and while it might have been the right decision, it was still unacceptable to the archer, and his absence proved he hadn’t been happy with relinquishing his idea. Oliver needed to regain a sense of control of his life, to make his own decisions after spending ten days at the utter mercy of another man, and Slade hated to interfere with that.

“He pushes himself too hard sometimes,” the small brunette, Thea Queen, Oliver’s younger sister had come up to him, Slade was so lost in thought, he didn’t even hear her approach, now, she stood a couple meters away, brow furrowed in obvious concern for her brother. The others, John Diggle and the tall, lanky man Slade had heard called Curtis had left with their gear, leaving the two of them alone.

“He had a rough few days,” Slade replied. “And most likely, a lot to figure out.”

“That’s an understatement,” Thea muttered, sinking down into one of the rolling chairs on the raised platform in the middle of the space. She rocked herself side to side for a moment without speaking before she risked a question, voice small. “Do you think he’s okay?”

 _No_. Oliver wasn’t okay, he was hurt deeply, and some of that hurt was Slade’s fault. He had been tortured for ten days, and the Australian wouldn’t forget the haunted look in his eyes or the blood and grime he had cleaned away from his body. “Maybe not now,” he admitted. “But in time, wounds heal.” _But the scars never fade_. He added to himself.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Thea said. “I don’t know how he’s kept it up for this long.” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Sorry. There’s just a lot. Oliver’s back but…” she made a helpless gesture, obviously not wanting to say more than she already had.

“There’s still someway to go,” Slade remarked. She nodded her agreement.

“Well, we’re all glad you came in when you did,” Thea said truthfully. “And I know Oliver is too, he obviously trusts you.” Slade doubted she knew the meaning behind her words. He had no idea how honestly glad Oliver was to see him, but doubted it was near as much as his sister believed, but he didn’t say that aloud, merely nodding. Thea stood. “And thank you, for bringing my brother home.” She left, undoubtedly off to go catch up on some must needed rest. Slade was left alone in the underground space, his head packed full of so many things. Would it have been so hard to simply bring Oliver here when he was injured? To just disappear once again?

Yes.

Eight years ago, he remembered looking into those startlingly blue eyes, rebuking Oliver for his habit of forming attachments. He still remembered what was in his head at that time, the thought that proved him a hypocrite.

Oliver Queen was going to be the death of him.

He had told the kid that once, maybe more than once, passing it off in a joking tone, but the truth was, it was far from a joke. Because he would never be able to just walk away when Oliver ran into some dangerous situation. That had already been proven when he had followed the younger man directly into a bombing zone, suffering severe burns and triggering what would later turn into the Mirakuru situation.

He would follow Oliver anywhere without an ounce of regret, no matter how much it hurt him. The only misfortune, was that Oliver was a survivor. He had a way of scraping through and bouncing back. The unfortunate aspect to that, was that the rest of the world, including those who fought beside Oliver, didn’t seem to share that knack.

**XxxX**

Oliver hadn’t wandered off with a clear destination in mind. After his brief altercation with Slade, he just wanted to get away from that room. He never remembered being so fatigued, both mentally and physically at any other point in his life. His body ached, his head pounded and he wanted to just hide away from the world for a short time.

He hadn’t been prepared to argue with Slade, and the tone the Australian had used had shut down his disagreement before Oliver could think up a response. After ignoring so many of Slade’s commands in the past, he didn’t know exactly what had stopped him this time. He ended up in the mock garage slash storage space, mindlessly looking over both bikes before leaning against a corner and slowly sliding to the ground. The quietness seemed to leave a ringing in his ears. For a moment, he needed this quiet, he needed to compartmentalize the mess that was his thoughts. Slade’s return, everything that had happened in the past eleven days, what still needed to happen, everything seemed to bleed together into a mental scream. His head fell forward into his hands, fighting back the wave of complex emotions he couldn’t begin to understand.

He couldn’t believe Slade was alive. Slade, who every time Oliver thought about him brought on the mixed feelings of hurt, guilt, abhorrence, uncertainty, and so many other damn things it left Oliver’s head spinning. Oliver had lost Slade, he had _killed_ him, he had grieved for that loss, left pieces of himself on the sinking freighter. And now, the Australian had walked back into his life, and Oliver had no idea how to reconcile any of it.

Part of him didn’t want Slade around, even as the rest of him wanted the man to never leave again. He didn’t want to be this weak in front of Slade. His hand rubbed over the back of his neck as he stared into space. He didn’t want Slade to see this pathetically incompetent, broken part of him. Why had he ever left that cell? What good had ever come of it?

Chase was irrefutably right in what he had told Oliver, and the archer carried that deep inside him. He didn’t want to poison the others around him, but there was no giving up now. He had to finish the fight, but that didn’t mean he had to continue forcing other people to fight his battles. His chest gave a twinge of pain and Oliver pressed his palm over the burned away tattoo. What else did he have to lose? He didn’t want to hurt Thea, or the other he had grown close to over the years, but he slowly accepted the fact that hurt was necessary. They would be better off without him, and though initially they might not agree, they would come to understand in time.

It was all too much, and his hand ground into his own chest, trying to ground himself with the excruciating pain. He gasped aloud, the burned skin far too sensitive to even the slightest touch. Something wet slid down his chest, and Oliver dropped his hand, breathing deeply.

He had devoted his entire life to being the Green Arrow, it was his anchor, and now, that mission needed to be ended, no matter what. He sat still for several more minutes, mind slowly turning over his options before Oliver pulled himself up, standing and starting out of the room. He turned left, intending to go back upstairs, he wasn’t out of the hallway, however before he heard a light footstep and looked up to see Slade stop in the opposing doorway, not continuing forward as soon as he saw Oliver, the archer walked up to him.

“What’s up?” the archer asked.

“John Diggle and the other left for the warehouse. Your sister headed out as well,” the Australian said, studying Oliver. “I wanted to check in bef-” his words stopped abruptly, and his hand moved towards Oliver, the movement quickly terminated before any contact was made. “You’re bleeding again.” His tone turned sharp, and instinctively, Oliver flinched away, looking down at himself. Sure enough, blood was just beginning to stain his white shirt, stemming from the burn on his chest.

“I-” the excuse died unspoken, Oliver didn’t know what he was about to say. “I’ll clean up,” he stepped around Slade, adjusting his jacket fractionally. He could feel the other man still watching him and even heard the intake of breath as the Australian prepared to say something. He turned to look back at him, expectantly, but whatever Slade had been thinking, he didn’t say aloud. And Oliver left without another word between them.

**XxxX**

Slade couldn’t force himself to move after Oliver. It was as if something about the change of surroundings, coming back into his life, had sent Oliver scurrying to hide behind walls, the brief moments of openness he had previously allowed were long gone, and Slade found himself about yet another thing. When Oliver had been insistent about returning, he had thought maybe it would be good for the archer to get back into familiar territory, now, for he saw that was a mistake, even if he didn’t understand why.

After several minutes alone in what seemed to be the main room of the underground lair, Slade had left to find Oliver, just to let the archer know he would be absent, now, it simply seemed as though just leaving would have been the better choice, and that was what he did now, his mind set on finding even the simplest of tasks.

**XxxX**

By the time Oliver returned to the main area, Felicity had returned from her coffee break, and seemingly recovered from meeting Slade. She was intently focused on something on the screen, her attention diverted from Oliver when he first entered, and it wasn’t until he started up the dais when she noticed him, looking around sharply.

‘Hi, hey, Oliver,” she clicked something away, and Oliver was unable to see what was on the screen. “You look…” she blinked. “Terrible. Should you even be walking right now? Are you okay?” He was getting tired of the questions, tired, mainly, of having to dismiss them or force some reassuring lie.

“I’m fine,” he said briefly. “John took Curtis for a recon mission on the warehouse the Bratva were spotted at, I need you to run a search, find anything that would explain why they needed the diabetes drug. Can you do that?”

“Just like catching fireflies,” Felicity replied immediately, spinning around again. She paused. “Not that I’ve ever actually tried to catch fireflies. Actually, it seems like that would be kind of difficult.” Oliver didn’t even attempt to stop the chatter this time, chalking it up to the obvious lack of sleep the entire team was suffering from. Another thing that was undoubtedly his fault. They’d been running themselves into the ground because he was missing, because they thought he was worth finding and saving. That thought alone made Oliver sick.

The elevator doors slid open, and he looked up just as Rene stepped off, mask in hand, radiating annoyance. He dropped the mask on a surface unceremoniously, looking towards Oliver on the dais as he made an explanation as abrupt as his entrance.

“Chase vanished,” he said. “I was on him, I looked away for a moment and he was gone!” He was annoyed at himself, that much was obvious, but Oliver really wasn’t surprised by this particular setback. Rene watched him expectantly, obviously expecting the same level of frustration, instead, Oliver just felt…detached, and sort of numb, as though his emotions had stopped working leaving him adrift in a grey world

“Okay.” He couldn’t think of anything else but that one word, and turned away, starting down the dais steps he had walked up just a few minutes earlier, crossing to the elevator. He couldn’t focus on any task, but he couldn’t just sit still either, because the second he did, the memories began to storm in, and Oliver wasn’t prepared for that.

He watched the doors close, cutting off his view of the bunker. His eyes stared ahead blankly as he rehearsed his plan one last time. Oliver knew what he had to do, there was a determined acceptance inside of him now, chasing away any hesitation he might have had. He knew what he had to do, and he was going to do it. He only hoped that in the years to come, they’d come to understand why.

**XxxX**

“That’s not…normal,” Rene said slowly once Oliver was out of earshot. Felicity shook her head wordlessly. She had worked with him for just about five years, and the only time she’d ever seen him close to this state was when Moira had been murdered. But even that hadn’t neared the quiet, detached manner Oliver had now. “Where’s that Wilson guy, anywhere?” Rene asked suddenly, drawing Felicity out of her reflection. She realized she hadn’t given the man’s absence much thought, he was still a new sight and not something she was used to seeing around the bunker.

“I don’t know,” she admitted with an unconcerned shrug. She opened several programs, entering the drug name and details before hitting a key, sitting back and waiting for them to run their course and give her information,

“What do you think of him, anyway?” Rene asked, coming up to join her by the computers.

“I don’t know,” Felicity said yet again. Sure, the man was a little unnerving, and Oliver’s rarely had normal, calm friendships (why hadn’t she been able to think of that word earlier?) but he _had_ brought Oliver back. He had succeeded where all of them had failed, and that counted for something. Rene, however, wasn’t happy with that answer.

“How do we know he’s on our side?” he asked, voice underlined with suspicion. “Maybe he’s here for some other reason.” The computer beeped and Felicity turned back to the screen, clicking through the results. Her expression tightened. “What is it?” Rene asked, peering over her shoulder.

“We’ve got to call the team in,” Felicity replied tersely. “All of them.”

**XxxX**

_Bratva Safehouse, Star City_

Oliver sat in the desk chair, cloaked in the shadows cast by the corner. He had cut the lights as soon as he entered, making sure the blackout curtains obscured the window. Now, the only light came from a thin strip between the curtains. He wasn’t there long before he heard the door open, the hinges creaking softly. The light switch was flipped twice and he heard a mutter of Russian. The door closed, and footsteps echoed as the newcomer walked further into the room.

“Oliver Queen, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The voice, marked by a Russian accent hardly seemed surprised.

“You know why I’m here, Anatoly,” he said, not leaving the safety of the darkness around him. Anatoly Knyazev sat down, moving carefully in the dark. “We had an agreement.”

“Yes. And I regret breaking it. But my position in the Bratva has been slipping, along with our funds.”

“So, you decide to come to Star City, _my_ city, to steal one of the key ingredients to a powerful opioid, the only ingredient you need to steal,” Oliver finished for him. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out. He had known the purpose for the diabetes medicine almost immediately, recognizing it from his time spent in Russia.

“My intentions hold no harm for your city,” Anatoly promised. “We take medicines back to Russia.” Had this been any other time, Oliver would have verbally murdered the Russian for such an act, now, his focus was elsewhere.

“Still, I don’t recall me owing you a favor in the form of letting you steal in my city,” he said, his tone cold. He heard Anatoly shift in his seat, obviously knowing where this was going.

“You want compensation?” He guessed it was a reasonable assumption, in his line of work at least.

“Yes,” _no point in beating around the bush._ Oliver thought. He had already committed.

“I think you don’t mean money, do you?” Anatoly added shrewdly. “This is a, return favor, you might say. What do you want?”

“I want you to kill Adrian Chase,” Oliver stated calmly. He heard the hiss of breath as the other leaned back.

“The District Attorney is no easy target,” he said, reluctance boarding his tone. “This is large price for diabetes medicine. Does the brotherhood receive anything _else_ from this deal?”

“I’ll come back,” Oliver replied flatly. Anatoly was silent, he hadn’t expected that. “And whatever you want me to do, I will do it.”

“And here I thought you were never going to give up the Hood,” he finally said, still sounding staggered. Oliver gave a small shrug the other couldn’t see.

“Things change,” he said. “If you kill Chase, I will rejoin the Bratva, permanently, and work alongside you. Do we have a deal?” This time, there was no pause.

“Of course,” they both stood, Oliver finally stepping enough into the light so that the small Russian could see him. The man grasped his biceps in a friendly gesture and the archer couldn’t help his small flinch. They shook hands and Anatoly voiced his concern. “However, there is the problem of your friends, they don’t seem fond of my men.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Oliver assured him. He turned to leave, only pausing when the Russian said from behind him;

“It will be good to have you back, brother.”


	11. Unexpected Complications

_Ridge Point Complex, Apartment 307, Star City_

Slade’s first stop was to return to the apartment and collect Oliver’s suit and weapons. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door, stepping through. Evelyn was halfway out of her chair with a knife in hand before she saw it was him and relaxed. Slade dropped the door shut.

“Did anyone try to come in?” he asked, concerned that Chase might have discovered this location. Evelyn shook her head.

“No. I think I’m just getting paranoid,” she said, sliding her knife back into its sheath. Her weapons were all laid out in methodical order on the table in front of her, along with cleaning and care supplies. She had a fletching jig set up and an arrow shaft still drying in its hold.

“Comes with the job,” Slade told her. He walked through the apartment, digging out a plain black duffel he’d typically store weapons in and gathering up Oliver’s items. Evelyn leaned back in her chair, trying to see around the corner.

“How’d it go?” she called, curiosity lining her tone. “Did anyone try to shoot you?” Slade zipped the bag shut, almost smiling at the question.

“Almost,” he admitted. “Oliver reinstated himself in the city, the rest of his team is aware of the situation.”

“So why are you _here_?” Evelyn asked, putting a certain emphasis on the last word. Slade looked at her, unable to read what the girl was getting at. He lifted the bag as an answer. “And Oliver’s just wandering around the city?”

“I’m not his caretaker,” Slade remarked. “He has work to take care of.” He didn’t particularly like the look Evelyn was giving him and turned away, finding another task. “The Russian mafia came into town,” he added. “They recently stole a diabetes drug from a hospital.”

“Why?” Evelyn asked, brow furrowing.

“Undetermined,” Slade said. “But if I understood correctly, the blonde one is looking into the robbery to find the motive.”

“And no one had a problem about you popping up out of nowhere with Oliver?” Evelyn inquired.

“Their personal opinions aren’t any of my concern. The important thing is that Oliver is back,” Slade remarked. He had never cared much about what people thought about him and refused to let it interfere with him doing whatever it took to keep Oliver safe. Evelyn made a soft ‘huh’ causing Slade to look at her suspiciously again. The girl seemed intent on her fletching work. “Is there something you wanted to say?” he said bluntly. Evelyn looked up, expression innocent.

“Who, me? No, just asking questions,” she replied. She carefully lay a feather down against the shaft, making sure the clamp was perfectly straight. “I guess the important thing is Oliver’s opinion, the other’s will probably trust him enough to give you a chance.” How was it, Slade wondered, that a seventeen-year-old girl could so skillfully hide her expressions behind such an innocent mask?

“This situation with the Bratva may turn ugly,” Slade said, veering away from the ground that felt dangerous. “An extra bow may be useful.” Evelyn’s expression changed to something a little more genuine.

“I’m still not sure they want me to be the one carrying it,” she replied. Slade simply shrugged. The conversation had happened earlier, she had even had it with Oliver. Ultimately, it was her choice, and he was in no place to tell her what to do. He turned towards the door.

“It’s up to you,” he said. “But I’d recommend making a choice you won’t later regret.”

_City Hall, Star City_

Oliver didn’t return to the Arrowcave. He didn’t know who was there, and didn’t want to risk running into Slade again until he had more time to straighten out the mess inside his head. Instead, he turned his path back to City Hall, he had a viable reason for being there, and realistically speaking, it was still one of the safest places for him to be, not that ‘safe’ was what Oliver was primarily concerned with at that particular moment.

It was late afternoon, and Oliver guessed he had more than enough time to catch up on the work that inevitably piled up during his absence. The spacy office seemed abnormally quiet after the constant conversation he had been involved in and as the archer sunk down into his chair, he forced himself to focus on the matters at hand, temporarily setting aside the rest of the world as he stared at the messy stack of folders. There was certainly a plus to digital files.

Slowly, Oliver worked through the first few pages. Occasionally, the words would blur out of focus or he’d realize he had been scanning the page without absorbing any information for several minutes. The fifth time that happened, he slammed the papers down in frustration. He needed to get his head back into the game. There was a knock on the door, and looking up, the archer saw that Quentin was already halfway through the entrance, obviously seeing the violent gesture and rethinking his decision. Quickly, Oliver straightened the files, gesturing for him to come in.

“I saw that budget report,” Oliver started as Lance came up to the desk.

“I heard,” Quentin remarked, his words might have been sarcastic, but they weren’t cutting, and Oliver couldn’t think up a reply. The older man regarded him quietly for a moment before talking again, this time, there was no sarcasm in his tone. “You don’t have to be here, Oliver, go home, get some rest.”

“I got rest, Quentin,” Oliver replied, a little too sharply. “And now there are more important things to be worried about.” Lance seemed to pick up on the hint, although he was obviously not happy about it, and let the topic drop.

“Well the city’s buzzing after your announcement earlier,” he said. “Seems like every news anchor around has nothing better to do than report the same story over and over.” Oliver leaned back, he still had no idea how he was going to sort through any of that, although it was an issue he would have to face eventually.

“Pike wants to assign you a security detail,” Quentin added, Oliver looked up sharply, disagreement already forming. “Don’t complain to me about it,” Lance said defensively. “I’m just relaying the message. And no matter what way you look at it, you don’t have a ready excuse to dismiss the need for extra security.”

“I did manage to ditch John for three weeks,” Oliver commented. “But I can’t afford to have people asking questions about where I disappear too.” Lance nodded in agreement.

“We’ll see, he might just assign you an officer, in which case I’ll negotiate to get Dinah in the position, if not, it’ll be a little trickier. More importantly,” he shifted in his seat as he changed the subject. “Pollard had a lot to say while you were gone, and I think some of it made quite the impact. So not only does the board want to approve this new budget, but you need to be careful about your public appearance.”

“I’ll remember that,” Oliver replied. Lance continued to catch him up on the newest problems and situations that had arisen during his time away. He was halfway through describing the newest mass complaint from the Glades when both of their phones chirped, and the same contact information flashed across the screen. Oliver answered his quickly, knowing it would take a serious reason for Felicity to call.

“I ran searches,” the bottle-blonde started immediately. “The drug they stole is one of the main ingredients in a really bad drug.

“Do you know what other places have the other ingredients?” Oliver asked quickly. There was a moment of silence, during which, he could faintly here the noise of frantic typing. “It’s most likely the Bratva will go after those next.”

“Ye-es,” she drew out the word. “Trimedic Solutions has both of the other two items. They have a warehouse just on the edges of city limits.”

“Great. Get the team on it,” Oliver replied. “We can assume they won’t make a move until night, but until then, monitor it digitally.” She confirmed the order and hung up. Oliver lowered his phone, trying to ignore the doubt that was building inside of him.

**XxxX**

“The diabetes drug the Bratva stole is one of the key ingredients in a highly addictive opioid,” Felicity said. Rene had called everyone in as she talked to Oliver, and now she briefed them all. “Oliver said they’ll undoubtedly go for the other ingredients. Based off of this we can be certain that their next target will be this place. A warehouse owned by Trimedic Solutions. Oliver thinks the Bratva will move after dark so we still have a couple hours.”

“We’ll want to case the area,” Dinah put in. Diggle agreed with her. They rarely had the fortune of being so far in advance. Today certainly seemed lucky.

“We’ll head out early,” he replied. “Make sure all your gear is ready.” He didn’t really have to remind them off that. One of the first lessons Oliver had driven home was the importance off keeping every weapon and piece of uniform in the best condition. It was a widely accepted fact that the archer would be furious if anyone was ever lax about their supplies. As the three left, Diggle stepped up onto the dais next to Felicity.

“Oliver go back to the office?” he asked casually. She nodded, twirling a pen in between her fingers absentmindedly.

“I guess he wanted to,” she replied.

“What about his new friend?” John asked, sitting down. Sensing there was more to this than just idle questions, Felicity turned her attention away from her computers.

“He left,” she said. “I don’t know where to. He stopped by just a few minutes ago and left that bag,” she nodded to the black duffle by the rest of the uniforms. “With Oliver’s stuff but then turned around and walked out again. Also, I just heard top ten reasons to distrust him from Rene, are you planning to add anything?” John shrugged.

“Oliver’s never been open about his past. If someone he knows shows up, and he decides they’re trustworthy, I’m ready to believe him until something else says otherwise,” he answered. Felicity made a noise of agreement and John hesitated, not sure how to phrase his next statement. “Even so,” he said. “The way he just shut Oliver’s argument down today. I have never seen Oliver react like that to _anyone_.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Felicity pointed out. “I mean if there’s someone Oliver will actually listen to instead of just marching off to do whatever bad idea he got into his head. I mean you saw what he was like today, what do you think would happen if he had gone out into the field? What if just one thing had gone wrong and the police suddenly showed up or someone got robbed?”

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” Diggle said, stopping her argument. “It’s just surprising.”

“Well if it comes down to it, you can always try to call Sara and ask her, she was with Oliver on the island, remember, so she might have met the guy at some point.”

“Maybe, but we might as well trust Oliver for now,” Diggle replied. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it was difficult enough to get ahold of Sara, and he didn’t want to bother her, or to make Oliver feel as though they were doubting him.

“Then logically,” Felicity responded. “We trust him.” John couldn’t argue with that, but he still had a nagging feeling that something was wrong.

**XxxX**

_Trimedic Solutions Warehouse, Star City_

“It’s freezing out here, hoss,” Rene grumbled into the coms. They were all stationed around the warehouse, waiting for an attack by the Bratva that had yet to arrive. “Russians sure are taking their time. We even sure they’re coming?

“Hold your position, Wild Dog,” Diggle reprimanded him, staring down at the empty parking lot.

“He is right, though,” Dinah replied. “The guard’s changed positions twenty minutes ago, if the Bratva were going to make a move, they would have done it then.”

“But Trimedic has the most available, largest and all-around best supply of those two drugs,” Curtis said. “Unless our information was faulty, which we know it wasn’t, the Bratva _have_ to be coming here. Oliver said they’d try for the other ingredients.” Diggle frowned to himself. Something wasn’t adding up, it was as if there was were too many puzzle pieces missing, making the entire picture indistinguishable. The problem was, he didn’t know where to find those pieces.

“Overwatch, try to see if our Russian friends were spotted anywhere else,” Diggle said into his com. “They might go after one of the smaller medical suppliers.”

“I’m on it,” in the Arrowcave, Felicity replied to the order, swinging over to her computers and typing things to bring up several programs. She peered intently at the information, scrolling down. Her attentiveness, couple with the silence of the man’s approach made her oblivious to Slade’s approach.

“What’s going on?”

“HOLY FRACK!” Felicity startled badly, her hand, still holding the cordless mouse, flying up instinctively, flinging the little device wide. The Australian’s arm shot out, catching it deftly as he watched the blonde, with an unmoved expression. She snatched the mouse out of his hand, setting it down on the surface again. “Don’t do that.” She snapped, righting everything else she had displaced.

“Overwatch?” Diggle’s voice came through the speakers. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Felicity replied sharply. “Someone just needs learn to make a little more noise if he’s coming in,” she added as a mutter. “I’m not used to people being _here_ during a mission. It’s weird and I’m not going to-”

“This is connected to the Bratva’s heist earlier?” Slade asked, scanning the screens quickly. Still slightly annoyed, but a little glad he had headed her off before she said something _else,_ she would later regret, Felicity went back to work.

“The drug they stole is one of the primary ingredients in a really addictive opioid,” she answered. “Trimedic Solutions has a solid quantity and would be the Russians’ safest and best bet.”

“Why would they go after the other two drugs in this city?” Slade said, she looked at him sharply.

“It’s what Oliver said they’d probably do,” she said, as if that answered everything. Oliver had dealt enough with Anatoly to know how the Russian thought.

“It would be a foolish plan,” Slade replied. “Three robberies like that would set off radars that such a group couldn’t afford to trigger.”

“Maybe they’re desperate,” Felicity suggested, her patience ticking.

“Or maybe Oliver gave you false information,” Slade’s comeback was short and abrupt. Diggle’s voice came a moment later, obviously having heard the interaction.

“He doesn’t have any reason to,” John said sharply. “I don’t know how things used to work with you two, but around here, there’s typically not a lot of deceit and working behind people’s backs.’ He was annoyed the newcomer would suggest such a thing, and his tone made it obvious. Felicity saw the small flare of anger in Slade’s face. His response, however, was icily calm.

“After Chase, I would not be surprised if Oliver made the decision to take matters into his own hands,” he said, voice dangerously low. Felicity subtly shifted in her chair, having no desire to be in the middle of the rising argument.

“Wait guys,” it was Curtis’s voice this time. “The guards just came around front, they’re talking about something. I think they might have-never mind, they just walked off again.” Felicity felt a jolt of something as one of the computers beeped. She rolled across the dais, Slade following her in just two strides.

“Frack,” she muttered. Chase, under federal protection, had just been attacked. The call had just been made to the police station but it was obvious who the assailants were. Behind her, Slade read the information quickly.

“How far are they?” he asked. “The rest of your team?” She did the math quickly. On the edge of the city, as they were, it would take over twenty minutes, provided they ignored all road laws, to get to where Chase was. “Almost half an hour.” She said, then turned to look at him. “We’re just five minutes away. Can you do anything?” Slade was already walking away, having come to the same conclusion. “We um, we have some extra guns, and stuff!” Felicity yelled after him.

“I have my gear,” he said. “But I need a small vehicle.”

“Bikes are in the garage,” she replied. “They took one, but there’s one left.” He was gone almost before she finished speaking.

“Overwatch, what’s going on?” Diggle demanded. Felicity filled him in quickly.

“The Russian mob just attacked Chase’s escort, they’re on Bridge Street, a little less than thirty minutes away from you. Slade’s already over there, he’ll be there in five, or maybe less then.”

“You sent Wilson on his own?” Diggle demanded. She could hear the noise of movement and knew the group was hurrying to the van and bikes. “Felicity, he’s going to be outnumbered.”

“He was up for the idea,” Felicity countered. “And he knows what he’s up against.”

“Let’s hope he does,” Diggle replied grimly. “Because if not, we’re going to have some awkward explaining to do.”

**XxxX**

_Bridge Street, Star City_

A bullet ripped through the car, tearing through the suit and skin of Adrian Chase’s shoulder. He grimaced, pressing a hand against the wound as blood trickled down from it. He was hidden behind the parked vehicle, the policewoman beside him standing, snapping off shots in response to the ambush.

For once, he didn’t know what was going on. These weren’t Oliver’s friends, not his team and not any of those he had worked with previously. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several figures in dark clothing approaching the car, guns raised. One of them shouted to the others, and while Chase didn’t know what he said, he recognized the language.

He had no weapon and was about to roll out of the way when a motorcycle sped out of nowhere, crashing into them. The driver leaped off easily, leaving the bike to slide into another group. Chase was unable to see who this newcomer was as he immediately attacked the remaining ambushers.

Two of them rushed him and were flung wide, smashing into the car the DA and police officer were hiding behind. They slid to the ground, and their friends continued the attack. Their attempts were almost comical, the masked man’s sword flashed in the firelight from the flames surrounding the area, he outmaneuvered everything they did, subduing them all easily. His blade sliced through flesh and bone alike.

“Go!” The cop shouted at him. Adrian ran, avoiding the battle and heading into the bushes on the side of the road. He looked behind him to see all of the attackers had been taken out, the strange newcomer standing in the midst of the writhing figures, his hands slowly clenching.

Maybe he sensed Chase’s eyes on him, but for some reason, the mask looked up, stilling for a second before turning towards him, the movement not hurried. It was too dark for him to see the man’s eyes, but he could _feel_ the burning gaze, he could feel the utter abhorrence directed at him. And for a moment, he wondered if the figure was even human, or if it was some demon cast from hell. And for the first time in his life, Chase felt true fear wash over him. No, not fear, but cold, utter terror. The orange and black mask weirdly reflected the flames from the cars, casting the single eyehole into shadow, speckles of blood littered its surface.

The figure turned completely, walking towards him with sharp, precise movements. Chase felt frozen in place. He had no way to defend himself, he couldn’t reach any gun or blade. He felt defenseless. But at that moment, the policewoman scrabbled into the driver’s seat, pulling out the dead body and revving the engine, swerving close to Chase who was in the car within seconds, staring into the review mirror to watch the figure stare after them.

Things had taken an unexpected turn, and Adrian Chase wasn’t sure if he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I've become really interested in writing out interactions between Slade and Evelyn but I think I enjoy it more than most the readers do.


	12. Save You From This Mistake

With everyone else piled in the van, John took the bike, leading the way through the darkened streets and taking shortcuts through tight alleyways. The noise of sirens, though distance, was still obvious, and Diggle’s main focus was to get to the scene before the police. They raced through the city, engine roaring against the relative silence, speeding towards a scene John had no great desire to see. He had yet to see Oliver’s friend fight, and maybe Wilson had pulled him free of whatever trap Chase had been holding the archer in. But even so, he was going up against trained, dangerous men, and alone. He knew, without an ounce of hesitation, that Oliver wouldn’t handle well knowing the man had gone off and gotten himself killed.

 _God damnit!_ Every time they took a step ahead, it felt as though they fell back to an all new low. They took a corner, and Diggle heard rubber screech on tar as a car raced in a different direction. He glanced in the window, immediately recognizing Adrian Chase sitting in the passenger’s seat. He couldn’t believe he was glad to see that.

He turned sharply, avoiding a prone figure on the ground at the last second. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Curtis stamp on the breaks, seeing John’s sudden stop and following suit. Rene flew into the windshield, and even through the glass, Diggle could hear the muffled curse. He turned his head back towards the stretch of horror in front of them. The driver of Chase’s car had been killed, left in the road, eyes staring at nothing. He counted eight men, all dressed in black, all lying at various angles. Standing upright, some paces away, was an armored figure, bicolored mask staring in John’s direction. A sword danged from one hand, while the other, empty, clenched and unclenched slowly. It didn’t take Diggle long to know who was under the mask.

He turned away pointedly, hearing the whine of pain from one of the men on the ground. He crouched down, not looking at the white bone protruding from his leg, and punched the man in the temple, knocking him out. Diggle didn’t even want to look over the others. They were all covered in blood, several with body parts at bizarre, unnatural angles. But they were still alive, and John merely accepted that single fact. He had little ground for criticism, Wilson had guessed Oliver’s action and responded faster than any of them, and John could not condemn him for that. He was about to make his way to the man when he heard a voice, and turning, saw Anatoly Knyazev, walking towards them, hands spread in a questioning gesture.

“Hey! Why interfere?” John was ready to shoot the man, unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, he didn’t respond first. “You want Chase de-” Wilson reached up, fingers catching the corner of his mask as he pulled it away striding towards the Russian with long steps. Anatoly’s features blanched and he stumbled backward, nearly falling over himself. Diggle froze, not willing to step into whatever was happening, but still prepared to preempt any fight.

“What did you say? What utter _bullshit_ did you feed him?” Wilson’s voice was a vicious snarl, and though the sword was lowered, its blood-stained surface still was a threatening presence, and Diggle gave Anatoly credit for suddenly stopping his retreat, facing the other man squarely.

“I told no lies!” Anatoly replied. “I made no excuse, you want to blame someone for this, blame Oliver, all this? His idea! You should step aside.” Wilson took several more steps, staring at the Russian with no hint of friendliness. Diggle saw Anatoly’s initial resolve weaken, even that didn’t stop the Russian from firing his next commen, however. “Or do you forget how much damage you caused him?”

Wilson’s sword moved with inhuman speed, and Diggle just threw himself forward as the blade settled against Anatoly’s throat, the tip pressing against his skin. But it hesitated there, not slicing through his windpipe or severing an artery, instead, Wilson spoke clearly and quietly, staring directly into Anatoly’s suddenly frightened eyes.

“If I see again within these city limits, I will sever your worthless head from your body,” there was something undeniably terrifying about the icily calm voice Wilson used, and for a second, Diggle stayed still, feeling as though even the slightest movement on his part could make things worse. Anatoly stood still, aware of just how deadly the blade at his throat was. Slowly, it lowered, and the Russian turned, leaving quickly and Wilson watched him go, expression utterly unreadable. Without another word, he pulled on his mask and turned retreating to the motorcycle still lying halfway on top of a man nearby. John turned back to the others, seeing they had gone around to check on each of the Bratva thugs.

“They’ll all live,” Dinah reported. “Maybe not the same kind of life they had before, but they’ll be alive.” There was little regret in her expression, her eyes were fixed on the driver, still lying on the road.

“We’ll leave this for the police,” John said. “Let’s go.”

**XxxX**

Felicity clipped down from the dais as the group entered quickly looking over their group, an expression of relief obvious as she saw they had all returned.

“You’re all alive!” She said. “That’s great, but where’s Chase?”

“Probably on his way to the precinct,” Dinah replied tiredly. “Or City Hall, wherever policy dictates he should be taken to.”

“I can’t believe Oliver would do this,” Rene said, voicing all of their thoughts. “He was super pissed when he heard the Russians were here so why’s he working with them now?” Wilson looked as though he was miles away, caught up in his own thoughts, his attention, however, was still caught by the statement, and he turned his gaze slowly towards Rene, pulling himself out of whatever reflection he had been stuck in.

“Desperation,” he replied, deep voice deceptively level, belying the turmoil he was hiding, obvious in the way his hand tightened and untightened on empty air.

“There’s no reason for that!” Rene countered angrily. This felt personal to all of them, Diggle knew that, but Rene especially had a difficult history of making up for mistakes and trying to prove himself time and time again. And now his anger was less directed at the archer, and undoubtedly more at himself, thinking that in some way, he hadn’t down enough, and that he could have been better. Wilson regarded him steadily for a moment.

“There isn’t,” he agreed, and Diggle was surprised, not near as surprised, he realized immediately, as Rene was, as he stopped mid inhale, his oncoming rant impeded. “But it is likely Oliver isn’t thinking rationally, and he is liable to come to decisions, to make choices, he would not usually make.” Diggle saw something in the man’s face he couldn’t quite place before Wilson glanced away.

“But he knows we’re on his side!” this time it was Felicity who said it, her frustration at Oliver’s difficult nature obvious.

“And so far, your attempts against Chase have all been relatively unimpressive,” Wilson didn’t mince his response, and the blonde had no response to the statement. It was true, after all, Adrian Chase had beat them at every turn. Logically, Diggle had to admit, it made sense that Oliver decided to try another method, especially after being tortured by the man for ten days, and he could see the others coming to the same realization.

“So now what?” Dinah asked. “We can’t just sit around and let him do this.”

“I’m going to talk to him,” Diggle said. Whether or not Wilson had laid the reason behind Oliver’s motives clear, he was still angry. Angry mostly, that the archer would have so blatantly lied to all of them. “You all should get some rest.”

**XxxX**

_City Hall, Star City_

Most everyone had left the rapidly darkening building, and the janitors had already begun their rounds. Oliver stayed behind the desk, his eyes growing more and more tired as he scanned document after document, his mind utterly focused on the work in front of him. The crash of the door to his office being thrown open startled him, and Oliver was on his feet in a second, the fast movement jarring his body painfully as his fingers instinctively twitched towards a weapon that wasn’t there, a second later, he forced himself to relax.

“You made a deal with Anatoly Knyazev?” Diggle’s accusatory voice was lined with frustration as he stormed into the room. Oliver sank back down into his seat, his body protesting even that movement.

“Yes, I did,” his voice sounded quiet even to himself, for some reason, words had been harder to use the past twenty-four hours than any other time Oliver could remember.

“And you lied to all of us!” John continued. “You sent us off to that warehouse knowing the Bratva would be halfway across the city!” Oliver laced his fingers together, prepared to wait out the rant. He didn’t feel guilt over the situation any more. “What the hell, Oliver? We’re not going to step back and just let criminals run around this city!”

“And I’m not going to let anyone else get killed because of all of this,” Oliver replied simply. There had been countless deaths over the past years, and sometimes, he wondered if they had even saved as many as they caused pain. “You have a family, John, you should know what type of risk you take on every time you put on that mask.”

“And I accept that!” John snapped. “Just like you accepted it for years now! You’re not the only one who can do this, Oliver! You don’t get to make decisions for the rest of us, we’re all taking that risk. I may have loyalties to my family, but I also have loyalties to this mission, to the team!”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, there is no team.” The words hung heavy on the air between them and John finally seemed to have nothing to say, staring at Oliver wordlessly. “I’m shutting it all down.”

“The hell did Chase do to you, man? To make you think any of this is okay?” The question held none of the volume as his previous words, but they seemed to bear even more weight, the incredulous, betrayed tone in John’s voice cutting through Oliver’s façade like a knife through butter.

“What did we ever achieve, John?” the question came out before he could stop it. “What good did we ever accomplish?” He could see the disagreement even before Diggle spoke.

“Malcolm Merlyn, Sebastian Blood, Ra’s al Ghul, Damian Darke, are you just forgetting the past four years?” John demanded.

“And how many of those problems were caused by the hood in the first place?” Oliver countered, and John didn’t have any reply for that. “As I said, I’m shutting everything down, this isn’t up for debate.” He meant for the argument to end there, not particularly caring if Diggle saw the same things he did.

“So what, you’re just sending everyone home?” John asked, he made a vague, helpless gesture with his hands. “You want us all to just walk away from all this?” Oliver pulled a folder towards him. “Just send Slade Wilson back to wherever he came from?” His hands froze.

“He shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“It’s too late for that,” John shot back. “You might have wanted to mention that before he went through eight Bratva thugs to keep you from making a mistake.” Oliver’s stomach clenched with the uncomfortable sensation of fear. He looked up towards Diggle once again.

“What?”

“We went to intercept the men Anatoly sent after Chase, since we were _halfway_ across the city,” the stress he put on the word was unmistakable. “Wilson went ahead to make sure they didn’t murder Chase and the rest of his escort.”

“Are they alive?” Oliver tried to make the question casual, but he could feel the vestiges of a panic trying to take over his thoughts. This was something he couldn’t afford to happen. Taken aback by the question, it took John a moment to answer.

“They’re alive,” Diggle told him, uncertainty hovering around his answer. Oliver looked down at the desk top, hiding his relief.

“I’ll talk to Slade,” he said briskly. “It’s over, John. Go home.”

**XxxX**

Diggle left the office, unable to comprehend how things could have gotten to such a point. The door fell shut behind him, and he started towards the stairs, wanting more time to sort through his thoughts. He couldn’t forget Oliver’s face when he had mentioned Wilson, or more specifically, the man’s fight with the Bratva. He wasn’t used to seeing fear in the archer’s eyes, and it was unsettling. He was hiding something, and Diggle hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt them.

He was halfway down the stairs when he met Slade Wilson, walking up. John stopped, surprised to see the man, and a little offset after the conversation he had just had with Oliver. Wilson also paused, noticing the gesture.

“Conversation go well?” the question seemed rhetorical but Diggle replied anyway.

“No,” he said shortly, not wanting to delve into that particular matter. “Oliver’s shutting down the team.” He hesitated before adding his next statement. “I don’t think he’s open for more discussion.” Wilson nodded once.

“I planned on staying in case Chase had planned for any sort of attack or move on Oliver,” he replied, obviously picking up on John’s subtle hint. Diggle frowned.

“Do you really think he’d try something?” he asked.

“I thought the point was we didn’t know what he was likely to do,” Wilson replied, and John couldn’t argue with that.

“Let me know if anything comes up,” Diggle replied. Wilson nodded again, and they both continued on their separate ways, the awkward conversation over as abruptly as it had started.

**XxxX**

_Felicity Smoak’s Apartment, Star City_

“He said all of that?” Dinah asked incredulously. Diggle hadn’t notified the team of his conversation until the morning, it had been late when he left City Hall and despite the situation, he didn’t want to ruin anyone’s rest, sleep was already too rare in their line of work. John nodded in response to Dinah’s question.

“Now what?” Curtis asked. “If he shut everything down, are we just going to go with it?”

“No,” Diggle replied decisively. “He’ll pull through, he always does, I don’t need to remind any of you just how strong Oliver is. In the meantime, we have other things to focus on.”

“Like what?” Felicity asked. “We have virtually no resources, I hope you don’t think we can keep all this going.”

“We started out with less,” Diggle pointed out. “And we have enough to get by. But we’re not just an anti-Prometheus squad, we’re vigilantes, meaning we have enough responsibilities to keep us busy. Felicity, Curtis, try to get some type of surveillance up, I’ll see what I can collect in way of gear.”

“Anyone know what happened to Wilson?” Rene piped up.

“He was at City Hall last time I saw,” Diggle replied. “He’s sticking around Oliver in case Chase tries making a move.”

“Do we have way to contact him?” Dinah asked suddenly. The room went quiet as everyone thought, realizing her point abruptly.

“No,” Felicity said eventually. “And I doubt I could track him down easily either, Slade Wilson doesn’t seem like he’s the type of person to walk around in plain sight.”

**XxxX**

Oliver had gotten an entirety of forty minutes of sleep, and that had been entirely unplanned. He had dropped off to sleep in his chair, jerking awake with the horrors of his dream still flashing in front of his eyes. He busied himself again, and time passed slowly, morning coming and going without any notable events. It was near midday when his phone rang, and Oliver answered with a customary greeting.

“No part of deal had my men ending up in hospital,” Anatoly said, causing Oliver to close his eyes, pressing a hand to his face, fighting off the beginnings of a migraine. Nothing was simple, everything always seemed to go straight to shit.

“I know,” he answered. “That was an unexpected detail. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Slade was an ‘unexpected detail’.  Or at least unexpected to ever arrive, his interference with the Bratva’s work could have been foreseeable if the archer had really thought it through.

“Slade Wilson is alive, you never mentioned this,” Knyazev continued. “The devil steps out of hell once more.” Irritated at that description, he rapped his pen off the desk, turning to look out of the large window before he chased away his vexation in time to answer.

“I didn’t know until a few days ago,” Oliver answered honestly.

“And he interfered,” Anatoly answered. “And what do you offer in deal now, more injured men? We had agreement.” Oliver stared unseeingly at his desk.

“I know,” he said once again. “And I will send you however much you need to get your men out of custody.” He said.

“We make another attempt, if any more of my men are damaged, consider deal is over,” Anatoly said curtly. Oliver nodded an unseen gesture.

“I understand.” He hung up. He took a moment to text somethings out, sending sufficient funds to one of the Bratva accounts before setting the phone face down on his desk. He had skipped breakfast and currently didn’t feel like going to get lunch. Staring at a screen and constant reading was beginning to give him a dizzy feeling. On top of that, his body still ached, the lack of rest only seemed to make it worse. He was just about to try to turn back to his work when there was a knock at the door, and Oliver looked up as his assistant entered.

“Mr. Mayor, the district attorney’s here to see you.”

Oliver sat up a little straighter, absentmindedly smoothing down his jacket. “Send him in.” he said, forcing his voice to remain level and calm. She nodded, stepping aside and allowing Chase to enter. Subconsciously, Oliver’s hands tightened, his eyes fixing on the man. Chase was wearing a sling, obviously the result of the attack the previous night.

“What are you doing here?” Oliver asked, voice tight. Chase regarded him, sauntering up until he stood opposite Oliver across the desk.

“You actually tried something,” he said. “Consider me impressed.” Oliver didn’t respond. “Although, calling the Bratva, that seems a little desperate, _Ollie_.” The nickname was spoken like some derogatory insult, but Oliver refused to rise to the bait, merely continuing to stare at the man.

“What do you want?” Chase reached into his jacket, pulling out a knife and reaching forward to set it down directly in front of Oliver. The archer’s eyes flickered between the weapon and the man, uncertain as to what game Chase was playing this time. “What are you doing?”

“Proving a point so to speak,” Chase replied. It was a moment before the archer realized what he was saying.

“You think I’m going to stab the district attorney in the middle of City Hall?” Oliver asked incredulously. Chase shrugged.

“You’re an animal who enjoys murder, there’s no telling what you’ll do.” He replied casually. “It’s not like your alter ego can kill me after I was put in witness protection since the Green Arrow _slaughtered_ my wife. So, you either kill me in broad daylight or let me live knowing there’s nothing you can do.” Oliver looked down at the knife once more, then up at Chase. He was the first to look away, his eyes slid down to the wood of his desk. He made no move.

“Disappointing,” Chase said. “Do I really have to find someone else to make you understand all of this? Because your sister’s in the city, I can bring her, it that would be easier for you.” Oliver’s protective instinct flared, anger rising.

“I swear to god if you ever lay a finger on her-”

“Your threats don’t mean anything Oliver, we’ve been over this already. You’re willing to sit back and let me kill your friends, but you refuse to kill me. Is this your attempt at heroism?” Oliver’s hand passed over the knife handle, fingers feeling it. Chase smirked. “See you could have ended this months ago, had you not been so caught up in trying to pretend to be something you’re not. But if you can’t see that well…” he shrugged. “Felicity, John, Quentin, Thea, William, I have a lot of other options, don’t I?”

And that was the cinch, Oliver realized suddenly, he had nothing to excuse his lack of action. He could end all of this by sliding the blade in between Chase’s ribs. And that was so obviously what needed to be done, the knife was in his hand before he realized his fingers had fully closed over it.

“Go ahead,” Chase said.

“I will give you exactly five seconds to get the hell out,” the voice started them both, and Chase’s eyes snapped away from Oliver as he turned to face Slade, the hint of a frown hovering over his features at the intrusion. The Australian stepped forward, hands clasped in front of him, meeting the other’s gaze without wavering, and Oliver saw recognition in Chase’s eyes. Adrian turned fully away, starting towards the door. He paused, hand resting on the door handle and glanced back at Oliver.

“You might as well keep that knife.” He was gone before Oliver could reply. The archer couldn’t meet Slade’s eyes as he swept the knife into a drawer and sat down, focusing on the mindless task of straightening various items in front of him.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, still not looking up.

“Since last night,” Slade admitted. Oliver forced himself to look up.

“You shouldn’t have stayed around,” he said. Slade looked at him, expression unconvinced.

“You’re saying you would have liked to have just stabbed a city official in broad daylight?” the Australian asked, sarcasm tinging his tone. “I’m sure that explanation would be simple, almost as simple as the one you tried to give your friend last night.”

“Are you saying I can’t handle this on my own?” Oliver shot back, the challenge coming easily. “Like I didn’t survive the past eight years without your help?”

“Yes.” Slade said bluntly. Oliver opened his mouth, but the abrupt answer left him scrambling for any sort of answer, and he couldn’t think of anything to say. Slade had always been difficult to argue with. “You’ve had a rough time, kid, you need to realize you don’t _need_ to handle this on your own.” Oliver looked away again.

“If you stick around for too long people will start asking questions,” he said, standing. “I don’t think you want that problem.” He didn’t wait for Slade to respond, stepping around the desk and making his way out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a completely different timezone and my sense of time is so fucked up right now.


	13. Honor the Legacy

_City Hall, Star City_

Somehow, Oliver had managed to suffer through the meeting discussing Chase’s general protection without incident. When it was over, he barely managed to refrain from storming out of the room, knowing Adrian was still watching him smugly. Once out into the hallway, he released his breath, walking away from the room in long strides, ignoring the pain shooting through his leg. He walked fast, not making eye contact with any of the people he passed for fear they might try striking up a conversation. He didn’t feel like sitting in an office again, his skin itched, his body ached, whatever painkillers he had downed earlier that day were wearing off.

Instead, Oliver left. He didn’t have a certain destination in mind, he was just certain he couldn’t go back to sitting in an office. He didn’t see any sign of Slade, and while the Australian’s absence certainly smoothed the concern of people raising questions, Oliver still wasn’t sure if he should be glad of it. He made his own way back to the lair, taking his bike out of parking. That in itself was undeniably a dumb idea, but Oliver was somewhere past caring about whether a choice involved self-preservation or not.

He reached the bunker, entering through a sideway and neglecting the idea of turning on lights. Instead, Oliver passed through the empty rooms, trying to ignore the heavy silence. It felt strange, the entire bunker being empty once again. It felt -he hesitated to admit it- wrong. There was a lot of work to do, packing up supplies, taking everything done, but for a moment, Oliver just sat down. There was a plain black bag on the dais, and he reached down to take it, curiosity besting him. He unzipped it and stared down at the green hood looking back up at him. He closed the bag forcefully.

His phone rung. Glad for the interruption, Oliver answered.

**XxxX**

John was halfway through the room when he heard someone knock on the door. He changed his path to cross to it, checking the peephole and recognizing the visitor. He opened the door and Oliver walked past him, hardly making eye contact.

“Chase is being transferred into federal protection, which means that the Bratva can't get to him,” he said, forgoing any greeting. “SCPD got an anonymous tip, they shut down the Bratva’s safe house.” He wasn’t asking if Diggle had been involved, John could tell he already knew.

“You’re welcome,” he said, with just a tinge of sarcasm. Oliver snapped, John didn’t see the punch coming. His body snapped around with the coiled force behind the blow. Working his jaw, Diggle lifted a hand, feeling the side of his mouth. He could taste blood. “Feel better?” He asked, looking back to the archer. Oliver hesitated.

“No.” He started towards the door again, without another word.  

“We're not done, Oliver.” The words stopped Oliver, but he didn’t turn around. “You and me, we're never gonna be done.” He couldn’t keep the same calm, steady voice he had started out with. “Do you understand that? Listen, man, you can tell me that you're a serial killer, that you're crazy, or you're whatever Chase has shoved into your head, but I'm not believing any of that, even if you do, and that's because I know the kind of man you are, Oliver! The good, the bad, and the ugly I know, and you don't need to punish yourself or isolate yourself!”

The archer turned around, and John could see the annoyance, the frustration sparking in his gaze. “What do you want me to do, John?” the question was rhetorical. “I've told you what I am, who I am, and even if you don't believe it…” he made a helpless gesture, the level of his voice dropping abruptly.  “I do.”

“I killed my brother, Oliver And I was gonna let myself rot in prison for what I did,” John replied. “But you told me to atone for what I did as Spartan. And if that's true for me, it is 100 times truer for the Green Arrow. You don't get to just walk away from this, man. The hood is who you are.” He didn’t know how he had expected Oliver to react, but he wasn’t prepared for the archer’s response.

“That hood? That hood was supposed to be a symbol, a promise,” Oliver shouted, his sudden anger taking Diggle aback. “Instead, I took a family’s legacy and stained it. I dragged all of you into this crusade with the idea that it was doing good. For five _fucking_ years I have ignored the consequences of it, I can’t ignore those anymore. That hood used to stand something, something Yao Fei and Shado ma-” He stopped abruptly, the sentence almost seeming to hit a brick wall, his eyes sliding away. Confused, John could only watch him, having no idea where the archer had been going. “I’m done discussing this, John. And this is the last time I’m going to say this; stand down.” He turned on his heel, leaving Diggle and striding out of the room.

John could only watch him leave, so stunned by the brief display of fury and confusing, cut off statement, he wasn’t sure how to react. The door shut, and Diggle shook his head, trying to clear his disbelief. He turned, intending to retreat to go collect his phone and update the rest of the team when there was yet another knock at his door. Logically assuming Oliver had just returned, John didn’t bother to check the peephole this time, simply pulling the door opened. He stopped.

“Does Oliver know you’re shadowing him?” he asked. Slade Wilson shrugged.

“Probably not,” he admitted. The lack of denial drew a small, incredulous snort of laughter from Diggle as he shook his head.

“Did you hear any of that?” he asked, referring to the argument.

“I was a floor below you,” Wilson replied in a bland tone. “I’m fairly certain most of the building heard that.” He must have seen John’s worry because he relented. “The words were muffled by the walls, I doubt anyone else heard the specifics.” Something about the sentence made John frown.

“But you did?”

“I have good hearing,” Wilson said dismissively. Maybe Oliver wasn’t the only one who tended to deflect questions. “I heard parts.”

“Oliver isn’t changing his mind,” Diggle said flatly. “You were right about the not thinking rationally part. I don’t know what’s going through his head, but it doesn’t make sense. And now that the Bratva have less of a holding than they did previously, they don’t have much time.” He paused, seeing if his words had much effect. “The minute Chase dies at the hands of the Russians is the minute we lose Oliver completely.” He could see the flash of concern in Wilson’s face and knew he recognized the gravity of the situation. “Which means we have probably half a day to get Oliver on our side before all this goes to hell.” Diggle finished.

“And are you offering a solution or asking me for one?” Wilson asked. Diggle was beginning to appreciate the man’s honest, abrupt approach to matters.

“You’re the one following him,” John replied. “Obviously I didn’t help anything, maybe he’ll listen to someone else.” He paused, he couldn’t say for sure if this was a good idea. “You came here, obviously you’re concerned. Whatever role you played in Oliver’s life, whoever you used to be, maybe that’s someone he’ll listen to.” Wilson didn’t have a response, merely turning, and John shut the door, silently praying he hadn’t made a mistake.

**XxxX**

The conversation hadn’t gone as Oliver had hoped. After, he had fled, going back to the lair once again, seeking out the quiet of the darkened rooms. Too much of his personal thoughts had come out when he was speaking to John, and maybe it was cowardly, but Oliver couldn’t bring himself to face his friend again. He entered the cave, unable to quite fend off the limp and set the motorcycle helmet on a table, intending to finally start clearing out the bunker. He stopped, straightening, but not turning around.

“Did John send you?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. Slade leaned against the doorway, still partly cast in shadow. “Because if he did, I suggest you just give up now.” Oliver turned back to slide a box out, dropping several items into it, still feeling the Australian’s steady gaze.

“What are you doing, kid?” the question made Oliver pause. He knew Slade wasn’t talking about the box packing. He cast around randomly, barely seeing the things in front of him. He couldn’t think up any response. The minutes stretched by, then Slade spoke again. “Do you really think all this is just going to go over smoothly?” Oliver slung the box aside with a little too much force.

“Why are you here?” he asked sharply. Slade didn’t flinch. “You spent the last eight years god knows where doing god knows what and suddenly decide to appear out of nowhere. What do you want me to do? Are we just supposed to pretend the last couple weeks on Lian Yu just didn’t happen?”

“You’re acting rashly, making bad decisions and probably going to get yourself killed.”

“And now that suddenly matters to you?” Oliver snapped. “After everything that happened, you’re standing there lecturing me about my choices. You don’t have the right to do that. You don’t have the right to suddenly show up alive and expect everything to just continue normally.”

“I don’t expect anything to be the same,” Slade replied tersely. “Although I do find it strange you’re complaining about the matter of trust after stabbing my eye out with an arrow. I had a viable excuse for staying hidden for eight years.” Oliver had long since forgotten about the cardboard box and its purpose, he turned to face the Australian directly.

“So, this is my fault?’ he asked, anger sparking. Slade crossed his arms. “Well fine then,” the archer continued, sarcasm stinging his words. “I am so _sorry_ I panicked when you went psychotic, tortured me, and tried to kill everyone. Totally illogical,” Oliver gave an overexaggerated shrug. “I definitely don’t have any reason to not trust you.” His words had taken on a vicious sharpness. He didn’t expect a response and moved away, his chest ached again, the burn aggravated.

“Usually works for you, doesn’t it?” Slade said. Oliver stopped, not sure what he was saying. He spared a glance back at the Australian. “You’ve fairly perfected the practice of isolating yourself by any way possible; words included.” Oliver turned around again, prepared to argue, Slade, however, straightened, walking through the few feet between them and facing the archer squarely, not giving him the chance to speak. “You can blame me for whatever you want, kid, you can hate me for whatever you want. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going anywhere. I spent two years with a kid I half expected to walk off a cliff. There wasn’t any lying, on that island, I’ve seen who you are, and you’ve not changed as much as you think. No matter what you say, whatever the fuck happens, I am not moving until you’ve gotten rid of whatever bullshit Adrian Chase pushed into your head.”

“The only thing Adrian Chase did was show me the truth I wasn’t willing to accept.”

“Don’t,” the single word cut him off. “Don’t act like Chase knows what the hell he’s talking about! You have seven people following you, don’t insult their intelligence by saying they didn’t know what they were signing up for. The lies Chase stuffed into your head were falsehoods you were already scared of. You refuse to forgive yourself for any mistake, any death that happened when it’s not your fucking fault.”

“Really?” Oliver questioned, finally managing to get words in. “You’re saying that as though you don’t still blame me for everything that happened? I made the final choice and made you what you are today. The Mirakuru might have twisted some thoughts or changed the way things looked, but you always blamed me for her death, that doesn’t change.”

“I blame myself,” Slade replied sharply. “I blamed myself for not getting there in time. I blamed Ivo for her death, Shado dying was never your fault.” He stopped. “I blamed you for other things. For lying.” Oliver didn’t know what to say, for a minute, Slade also seemed at a loss, as though that small confession was difficult for him to admit. The archer wasn’t sure he even understood it. “I’m not walking away, kid,” his voice was quieter again. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re afraid. I know I don’t have any right to ask for your trust, but I still am.” Oliver felt deflated. Honesty was far too exhausting, he thought dully. He glanced around, crossing to a chair and pulling it out to sit down. Slade followed suit. The archer dropped his head into his hands, and the silence stretched between them. Then, Oliver finally found his voice.

“I’m sorry.” The apology held none of the previous sarcasm. Slade rested his elbows on his knees, the posture alone seeming to offer a sudden lack of defenses. Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the ground. “I betrayed you.” His voice grew quieter. “I should have used the cure.”

“That’s not important right now,” Slade said dismissively. Oliver met his gaze. “Now, you need to focus on what you’re going to do next. You’ve got a team waiting for that decision right now.” The archer still hesitated, his mind unable to come to terms with all of it.

“Do you really believe what you said?” he asked.

“I do,” Slade said simply. He paused. “You’re not sick, Oliver, you’re not a criminal. The world wanted to take everything from you, and you made the choice to keep giving, even when you didn’t owe it shit.” He shrugged. “Not many people can do that.” He tipped his head, considering something for a long moment when he spoke again, his voice was softer than Oliver had ever heard it. “You’ve made that hood into a symbol of hope to those who didn’t have any. The Green Arrow’s a hero. I’d say that’s a hell of a way to honor a legacy. Shado and Yao Fei, they’d be proud.” 

**XxxX**

_Arrowcave, Star City_

I made a mistake,” Oliver said honesty. “And I lost track of what should a priority. Now, because of that, the Bratva are in Star City and refusing to back down, which means I have to stop them. Slade has convinced me not to do it alone.” Oliver turned to face the three people watching him. Felicity and Curtis had some business they wouldn’t tell the others about, and Slade had made some excuse about needing to take care of something. “I wanted to shut this all down, I was afraid asking you to kill Chase would corrupt you more than…more than I already have. To me, the Bratva was the best option, but Slade insisted as a team, we could find another way to bring Chase to justice. You put your faith in me and I’m putting my faith in you now because once we handle the Bratva, I need your help to prove that Chase is wrong.”

“Should be easy considering Prometheus is all the way wrong, hoss,” Rene said.

“Eloquent.” Dinah shot at Rene, she looked back towards Oliver, expression serious. “I think what Rene is trying to say is that it’s not all on your shoulders. We’re here for you, Oliver.” John nodded his agreement. The archer looked at them all.

“Okay,” he wasn’t sure what else to say. “Then suit up, we have a mob to stop.” Rene grinned.

**XxxX**

“Left wing is clear,” Rene reported.

“So is the east,” Dinah said, moving forward.

“Alright, I just got a sentry, they can’t be far,” Oliver’s voice came on, accompanied by another person’s grunt of pain.

“There’re not. Better get over here, fast,” John replied, staring at the group of Russians through the shelves. Rene started over, running into several sentries within a matter of moments. As he fought his way through them, John joined him, taking down the last two.

He heard a noise behind him and turned just in time to see Oliver throw a thug they hadn’t seen through one of the shelves. The black mask in place of the hood was an odd sight, one Rene was still trying to get used to. But the fighting style was undeniably the same. The fighting style, that was, of seeming to be able to take down anyone within a few seconds.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” John asked. Oliver nodded once. Moving past him, gun coming up as he rounded a corner, Rene directly behind him. Anatoly Knyazev, flanked by two armed Bratva men stood facing them.

“You can’t win,” Oliver told him.

“Is that you behind mask?” The Russian asked, sarcasm lining his tone. “What happened to hood?”

“It’s over Anatoly, leave the medicine and go,” Oliver ignored his comment, weapon unwaveringly still.

“I had feeling you would say this, so I prepared insurance plan,” the Russian’s voice was cold as he held up a cell phone, the screen playing a live video, a ring of people sitting in an empty room, guarded by several men. “You have chosen where you stand with Bratva, now you must make one more choice, save pills, or save hostages.”

“Spartan, Wild Dog, get the hostages, I’ll handle the Bratva,” Oliver ordered. Anatoly looked at him for only a moment before lifting a communication device to his mouth, speaking into it with a cold and ugly tone.

“Kill them,” the words had barely left his mouth when John and Rene turned to sprint away. Oliver kicked the first man in the chest, shooting the second’s leg out from underneath him in the same movement.

**XxxX**

Dinah burst through the doors of the hostage room, her gun up, watching each guard in turn. Before she could so much as fire a shot, something hit her from behind, her weapon went flying. Her attacker had the element of surprise, and because of that, he was winning their fight.

He kneed her hard, then punched her in the stomach. Breath driven from her lungs, Dinah was unable to release her sonic scream, and she was too off balanced to launch an attack. Instead, she went on the defensive, desperately trying to avoid a serious punch as the man stepped in swinging. His fist caught the side of her head, and sparks exploded in her vision. Cursing herself, Dinah tried to reorient herself, tried to gain some sort of control.

Her savior came in the form of an arrow that shattered the glass above Dinah’s head, burying itself in the man’s shoulder. He stumbled backward as a person lunged through the window and tackling the guard. Behind him, another guard turned to fire, only have a sword flash through the air, slicing through his arm and pinning him to the wall.

The door burst open and Wilson entered, taking out two guards in rapid succession. Dinah grabbed her own gun, bringing it to bear just in time to shoot a man who had started forward. The two remaining thugs acted quickly, each grabbing a captive to use a shield. She trained her weapon on them, unable to shoot, frozen with indecision.

**XxxX**

Oliver shoved the man into the shelf, knocking the entire row off balance and fired two shots as another attacker rushed him. From the side, a man rushed forward and he rammed Oliver backward, only to be kicked in the chest, sent to the floor.

The thug used a ledge to leap off of, getting behind Oliver and wrapping one thick arm around his neck. Oliver felt his airway slowly being crushed, he lashed out with his gun, feeling it connect with the man’s face and hearing the grunt of pain. It was enough to allow the archer to slip from the hold, twisting the man to a bent over position and driving his knee into his throat. He heard a gun click and looked up to see Anatoly glaring at him.

“In Russia, you would have killed him,” it sounded like an accusation. Oliver shoved the man aside, ramming his head into the metal bar. He lifted his own weapon, aiming it at his old friend.

“And you would have stopped him,” he replied.

“Looks like we’re not in Russia anymore.”

**XxxX**

Slade and Dinah took a few steps forward. They couldn’t shoot without endangering the hostages. A moment later, two shots rang out, and the men bucked. John and Rene, who had come in from a back door without anyone noticing, stood there, guns still up, scanning the room. Dinah hurried to the side of the woman, one of the two who had been used a shield. “Are you okay?” She demanded.

The woman was sobbing, but she nodded a few times, and her tears seemed more those of relief than actual pain. Dinah looked up, noticing both John and Rene were staring at a point behind her. Confused, she turned to see a dark-haired girl, holding a bow with a quiver of arrows and some type of bladed weapon attached to her back. Dinah was fairly certain she was missing something. The stranger gave an awkward wave, and Rene turned to look at Diggle.

“Wha-”

“We’re wasting time,” Slade growled in irritation, drawing all of their attention immediately. “Let’s move.”

**XxxX**

“Go ahead, Oliver. You want to kill old life?” Anatoly lowered his gun, stepping to face Oliver square on. “Start by killing me.” Oliver’s movement was minimal, and as the gun fired, Anatoly winced. But instead of hitting the Russian, the bullet penetrated the alarm panel close to him. Immediately, red lights began to blare, a shrill noise starting up. Anatoly looked incredulous. “Is very stupid! Now you have to run!” He exclaimed.

“So do you,” Oliver replied calmly. For a moment, the Russian hesitated, then began to back up, finally breaking it into a run. Once he was gone, Oliver turned and made his own way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed a chapter update last week due to life complications. This chapter also swung around a lot, hopefully, writing will get to be on a clearer schedule sometime soon.


	14. Because We're Not Alone

The police had arrived on the scene just as the vigilantes were making it out, and they had made a frantic escape from the area. The SCPD wasn’t fond of vigilantes ever since the Green Arrow had been blamed for Oliver’s abduction. Due to the hasty nature of their movement, there was no time for explanations, Oliver and Slade subtly changed their initial direction, staying close to Evelyn and leaving Diggle to take the bike.

Rene was obviously eager to question why the girl was there, and what had happened that hinted she was actually on their side. Oliver had intervened before he could ask, however, stressing the point of getting to somewhere safe first. The injuries he had received were agitated again, and Oliver grimaced as he jumped into the back of the van, pulling the door shut behind him.

 By the time they reached the Arrowcave, Felicity and Curtis had already arrived, both looking very pleased about something.

“We got it!” Felicity started, her expression dropped suddenly, eyes settling on Evelyn still hovering by the elevator. “Oliver, explain?” The archer dropped his mask on a table, rolling his shoulder experimentally to feel how much it hurt to move. He looked up at the question.

“We chased off the Bratva,” he said, purposefully misunderstanding the question. He turned, gesturing for Evelyn to come completely into the room. The girl had slid off her mask, the bow clasped in both hands in front of her. Dinah’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she opened her mouth, obviously planning on questioning the situation. Obviously, she changed her mind, because she closed her lips again without a word, still wearing a frown. “Evelyn had a change of heart,” Oliver continued, finally addressing Felicity’s question. “She’s on our side.”

“How do we know that?” Rene demanded, his distrust evident. “She was on our side last time!”

“I know I was wrong,” Evelyn spoke up abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention, more out of surprise than anything else. “I betrayed everyone’s trust and I sided myself with a psychopath, I regret all of it, and I’m sorry. Not that I expect that to mean anything.”

“So that’s it?” Rene challenged in the silence that followed.

“Actually,” Curtis piped up from the dais. “Chase _technically_ isn’t a psychopath, because he feels emotions…” everyone stared at him incredulously and he trailed off uncertainly. “Bad time?”

“Yeah,” Dinah told him. “Bad time.”

“Just thought it was important,” Curtis muttered, half to himself. “You know, being medically and scientifically correct.”

“Curtis,” Oliver glanced at him warningly.

“We’ve all made some mistakes, I know I’ve had my share,” Diggle spoke up. “But the point is how you come back from it. And I think we’ve all asked for a second chance at some point.” There was an underlying meaning to the latter part of his statement, and Oliver shot him a grateful look, glad that John had taken to the situation so well.

“She found Oliver almost singlehandedly,” Slade suddenly said. “She had the location pinned before I even came in.” Evelyn made a face.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she admitted. Oliver crossed his arms, impatience building.

“I think the general point here is we have better things to do than stand around and debate this, John’s made his opinion clear, what about the rest of you?” He was reluctant to do anything that would cause a rift in their team, but he also wasn’t willing to let this go.

“I’m in no place to judge,” Dinah shrugged. “I missed all this. If Oliver trusts you, and believes you, I can’t argue with that.” She paused, then added. “Also, I really have no idea who you are because no one on this team believes in giving details.” The most she had been told was one of their teammates had betrayed the team and joined Prometheus.

“I’m Evelyn Sharp,” the girl said.

“Dinah,” she replied. “Dinah Drake.” The short introductions over, Evelyn’s eyes passed on to the others, waiting. Felicity finally threw up her hands.

“Well we’ve worked with Malcolm Merlyn,” the bottle blonde said. “Not like I can complain after that.” She frowned at Oliver. “Just mention this earlier next time instead of springing it out of nowhere.” The archer held up his hands.

“To be honest I was ready to welcome you back as soon as you walked in,” Curtis admitted. “But I thought maybe it was a little to abrupt.” The brief relief was evident in Evelyn’s features, but almost immediately, it dissipated, as she turned to look at Rene steadily. The pause stretched for a long moment before he finally shrugged, a small smile cracking through his mask.

“Guess we could use a couple more friends,” he said.

“Great,” Oliver said, changing the subject abruptly. “Now that’s taken care of, Felicity, Curtis, mind explaining what you two did?” The question drew everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand, and they all drew closer to watch.

“We were busy getting the upper hand,” Felicity replied. Curtis’s fingers flicked over his tablet screen transferring the image to the larger screen mounted on the wall. It was obviously Chase in the Prometheus suit, but the face was so badly pixelated it was impossible to tell. Oliver fought down his initial disappointment, maybe they had some explanation. But before he could ask, slowly, the image fixed itself, coming into clarity. It beeped and the name Adrian Chase appeared under the image.

“That is what we needed!” Oliver said, his tone rising with the success of the accomplishment. He composed himself once more. “Something that he couldn’t plan for.” He nodded to Curtis and Felicity. “Well done, both of you.”

“Please let me be the one to walk this into SCPD,” Dinah begged, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Knock yourself out,” Curtis said.

“Yeah, then I’m going to throw it up on YouTube. There won’t be anywhere that son of a bitch can run,” Felicity added.

“Does this mean we’re officially back in business?” Curtis asked. Oliver turned away, mounting the dais and looking down to flick a few controls, looking towards the darkened space where their suits were typically kept.

“Aside from a few minor changes,” the mannequins lit up, revealing the line of suits, including several extra spaces. “Yeah.”

“New line up could use a little more green, hoss,” Rene told him, staring at the suits, expression lit with a barely concealed grin. Oliver gave a slight shrug.

“Maybe,” he didn’t want to bring up that discussion. He glanced back, meeting Slade’s gaze. The Australian had been unusually quiet, but he gave Oliver a small nod, the gesture part approval, part reassurance. Oliver looked away, unease twisting inside of him. He hadn’t forgotten what the Australian had said about Shado and Yao Fei. It had hit the archer hard, touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. Even so, his hesitation to put on the hood wasn’t about that so much as a need to realign his life. He had made several mistakes, and he had to right those.

Casually, he moved away, joining Slade by the elevator. The Australian waited until he was close before speaking, their words pitched low, not carrying to the others.

“Well done, kid,” he sounded tired. Oliver heard it at once, but when he looked into Slade’s face, he saw only genuine emotion, with no belying sign of discomfort or disquiet. Maybe he was overreacting. He shook away the feeling.

“I guess you were right,” he said, also leaning against the wall.

“Always am,” Slade replied, and Oliver let out a tired chuckle. He looked at the Australian for a moment, gauging his next words before he said them.

“Are you alright?” He swore Slade hesitated, but when the response came, there was nothing in it to suggest so.

“I’m fine,” Slade shrugged away the concern. “Just looking forward to see Chase behind bars.” Oliver nodded in agreement.

“I know,” he said. A few more quiet seconds passed between them before Slade straightened.

“I need to take care of something,” he said offhandedly. “Just some personal business, nothing serious. I’ll see you in the morning.” Once again, Oliver felt that unease, he sensed, more than knew, that Slade was hiding something. But did he really have the right to demand to know?

“Okay,” his reply was simple. Slade had just started to turn when Oliver added; “Slade,” the Australian hesitated, and Oliver, unable to voice any of the things in his head, backed down from whatever he had been thinking. “Thank you.” He didn’t know how to say anything more, how to explain just what he meant by those two words, but Slade seemed to sense it. His expression softened fractionally.

“Anytime, kid,” briefly, his hand settled on Oliver’s uninjured shoulder, squeezing gently before he moved past to the elevator, leaving Oliver standing alone. The archer sensed someone watching him, and glanced towards Felicity, not missing the way she quickly dropped her gaze back to the computer screen. He didn’t like he look she had been wearing but forced himself not to dwell on it. Dinah, Rene, Curtis, and Evelyn were all gathered in a group, talking quietly, and in a moment, all four started towards the elevator, obviously planning on catching up. Oliver moved past, speaking briefly with Diggle before he continued onward, searching for some activity to keep his mind off of things. He missed Curtis’s aborted gesture at his retreating form, or, the way the vigilante slash computer genius’s expression molded into a frown, trying to make sense of some private thought.

**XxxX**

_Police Precinct, Star City same time_

“This video has been authenticated by three different experts,” Quentin Lance stated, gesturing to the video playing on a loop on a screen at the police station. Everyone, there was shocked into silence, not knowing how to take the news of the district attorney, Adrian Chase, the man they had worked alongside for so long, was a dangerous murderer.

“And it hasn’t been doctored or edited in any way, that is raw footage,” Dinah finished. She couldn’t keep a straight face, the satisfied smirk curling the corners of her mouth. A policewoman stepped forward, the same who had been with Chase while he was attacked.

“Chase is in protective custody of the US Marshals,” she said, clearly trying to process this news. Lance stepped up to her.

“Yeah, well somebody better give ‘em a call and place that son of a bitch under arrest.”

**XxxX**

 

“We want the full story,” the four of them walked through the doors of Big Belly Burger, placing orders at the counter and picking one of the booths. They slid in, Dinah and Curtis on one side, Evelyn and Rene on the other.

“What full story?” Evelyn asked in response to Rene’s question. He shot her a look.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “How’d Wilson come in, what happened after all that.” Evelyn leaned her elbows on the table. Her forearm was still sore from where she had dug the tracker out, but it was healing well.

“Well,” she started, and the other three leaned in. “I started rethinking things, looked around, had a disagreement with Chase,” she shrugged. “Basically, had a wakeup call. So, I started trying to narrow down where Oliver might be. I know the location of most of his safehouses, I’d map out the areas, scout them. I was having no luck.”

She was forced to pause as the waitress emerged carrying four food basket that she set on their table. It was an awkward silence. Evelyn continued as soon as she left.

“Slade just popped out of a shadow in an alley one night when I went out,” she said.

“Terrifying,” Curtis muttered. Evelyn pointed at him with a French fry.

“ _Very_ ,” she agreed. “I thought he was with Chase then I thought he was just another murderous psychopath -Curtis I will punch you. But he seemed genuine.”

“You decided to trust some scary looking stranger based off he ‘ _seemed_ genuine’?” Dinah asked incredulously.

“Well it was either that or continue to work solo and that wasn’t going so well,” Evelyn replied. “And he knew who Oliver was, he had already surmised this was a revenge plot against him. He said he heard the mayor was missing and came to Star to check things out.”

“So you met the scary Australian in a back alley, decided he was trustworthy and then what?” Rene pressed around a mouthful of food.

“We had coffee and discussed the situation at hand,” Evelyn said dryly. They all looked at her, obviously unsure if it was sarcasm. She shrugged. “I told him everything he didn’t know, showed him the areas I knew held safehouses and he had enough questions to file it down to one place. We met up later and sort of…”

“Stormed the castle?” Curtis offered hopefully. She relented with a shrug.

“And that was kind of it. We didn’t see Chase but there were several of Talia’s minions, we fought our way through, found Oliver, and left.”

“I bet Oliver was relieved to see Slade,” Dinah commented. “Getting out of a place like that…” she shook her head, trailing off.

“Well, by the time Slade met up with us, Oliver was unconscious,” Evelyn admitted. “He got hit by a drug. We went to some safe place Slade had set up and he patched Oliver up, he didn’t wake up for a few more hours.” She hesitated. “And to be honest, it didn’t sound like he was that relieved to see Slade.” They all were interested by that.

“What do you mean?” Curtis asked.

“Well,” she paused, she hadn’t been able to see the first exchange, and didn’t want to speak out of line. “I didn’t see his actual reaction, but there was one point, there were a couple crashing noises while Slade was in there waiting to make sure he’d gain consciousness.”

“Did they fight?” Dinah asked.

“It didn’t seem like it,” Evelyn said hastily. “Just like Oliver had really panicked when he first saw Slade.”

“Well being tortured for ten days has gotta mess with your head,” Rene put it matter-of-factly. “It he was a little paranoid after it’d only made sense.”

“I think you mean more paranoid than usual,” Curtis put in. Rene nodded. “Also, you missed Slade stopping Oliver when he wanted to go on a recon mission.”

“Wait, for real?” she asked. The other three nodded. “Because I remember the time _we_ tried that we just got a lot of bruises.”

“Should I ask?” Dinah began.

“No.” The three of them immediately agreed.

“But he really convinced Oliver to not go out into the field,” Evelyn prompted.

“I think I missed that as well,” Dinah said.

“You’d just left to go stick around Quentin,” Curtis explained. “And Oliver had just told John that he needed backup for going and surveilling this warehouse the Bratva might be hitting up. And he still did not look good,” he added unnecessarily. “He was in really bad shape.”

“Wilson straight up shut Oliver down,” Rene interrupted, cutting to the point. Curtis looked at him, affronted, he had been enjoying ramping up the details.

“Wow,” Evelyn sat back. “While Oliver was at the apartment, Slade didn’t agree with him going to City Hall, but he just accepted it and didn’t argue.”

“Well he argued this time,” Curtis said. “And I have _never_ seen Oliver agree with anyone. Usually when someone argues he just snaps at them and keeps doing whatever he’s doing. Even John doesn’t have that type of sway over him.”

“I really didn’t expect this,” Dinah admitted. “He was sticking around Oliver at City Hall pretty protectively as well.” Curtis opened his mouth, then shook his head, turning back to his food. He wasn’t able to keep his thoughts private for long, however.

“Does anyone else have the impression that those two have a _lot_ of stuff they haven’t worked out?” He asked. Evelyn nodded.

“Slade hinted at something like that,” she agreed. “They to know each other really well, and really comfortable around each other, but he mentioned they had a bit of a falling out.”

“Well maybe this will be good for them,” Dinah said, dipping a French fry in ketchup. “Get them back to being friends.”

“See…” Curtis trailed off. He had no idea if it was his overactive imagination inserting the looks the two seemed to be constantly exchanging, or if it was actually real. “I don’t know if friends is the right word. Because…well…the…” He blundered through the words, not knowing how to phrase his thoughts, and even if he wanted.

“Here’s the thing,” Evelyn took over, folding her hands together. “Are we supposed to ignore the longing looks they keep casting after each other or their little interactions or is someone going to finally say ‘undiscussed feelings’?” Rene broke into a coughing fit abruptly, surprise having caused him to swallow his food a little too fast. The other three ignored him.

“Yes, thank you!” Curtis exclaimed, relieved someone else was agreeing with him. Evelyn shrugged.

“Or you’re just determined to not let the idea go that Oliver could be even slightly gay,” she commented.

“Also, very true,” Curtis agreed. “But it’s so obvious.”

“Do you think they just never admitted it to each other?” Dinah asked, surprisingly on board with the entire idea.

“I don’t think they ever admitted it to themselves,” Evelyn countered.

“No!” Rene was finally able to speak. “This is Oliver Queen, guy slept with half the girls in North America!”

“So, what, he’s bi,” Evelyn shrugged. “Or pan, or just doesn’t care about fitting a label.”

“Also, getting stranded on an island with limited friends could change your sexuality drastically,” Dinah added. “Really Oliver turning out to be less than straight wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, it doesn’t seem like something he considers a big deal and it’s usually more about the person.”

“Ya’ll are crazy,” Rene muttered.

“Actually, it makes a lot of sense,” Dinah said. Rene looked at her incredulously. “He obviously respects him a lot, they seem to know each other really well, they spent two years depending on each other for survival, who wouldn’t develop feelings. And you have to admit, they do work really well together.”

“We ain’t Team Cupid,” Rene argued. “Even if you’re right it’s none of our business.” His expression turned wary. “Right?”

**XxxX**

_The Docks, Star City_

“You have two minutes, then I’m calling the SCPD,” Oliver walked up to the Russian.

“Oliver Queen, afraid to be alone with Bratva gangster, how far you have fallen.”

“Anatoly, you didn’t bring me here to insult me,” the archer replied coolly.

“No. I give you friendly tip. I go back to Russia tonight and leave Star City to the present. My best men-”

“Your best men were arrested,” Oliver cut in.

“Already out on bail,” Anatoly corrected. “I hear they cannot wait to get revenge on vigilante that put them away and in hospitals.”

“This is between you and me, no one else.”

“No one else?!” There was anger in Anatoly’s voice. “You betray every man in Bratva. You betray Russian community.” Oliver shifted in irritation, eyes scanning their surroundings more out of habit than an actual fear. “You even work against old team. When I see this I think, I still trust him anyway. What I fool I was.”

“No,” Oliver shook his head. “I’m the fool. Because I thought that our friendship, _everything_ that we have been through together actually meant something to you. The person that I knew would _never_ betray a friend. Would _never_ threaten innocent people for what? A payday.” Anatoly’s gaze slid away from Oliver’s angry eyes. “When I left Russia, I was convinced that you could lead the Bratva, that you could set them on a better path. And now look at you. You’re no better than Gregor.”

“I told you,” the Russian replied bitterly. “I was worried about what I would become without your help. I did what I had to do to keep Bratva together and to stay alive. I became what I had to become. You ask why I change? That is it.” Anatoly turned on his heel, walking away and leaving Oliver standing alone.

**XxxX**

Adrian Chase wrote in the small notebook, his coat slipped off his shoulder to allow his injured arm to stay close to his chest. The two marshals sat on couches behind him, reading quietly so as to not interrupt whatever work the DA was involved with.

There were too many hiccups, Chase reflected. Whoever the stranger who had faced him in the office was, he was someone dangerous, and seemingly someone Oliver relied on. Talia hadn’t been in contact, and his last question concerning the man’s background had yet to be answered.

If he were being honest, Chase would admit the man made him uneasy. Not only his unexpected appearance but the _air_ about him. The contemptuous hatred whenever the dark eye settled on him. Oliver, he knew just how to manipulate and push, the stranger was a whole different story.

Suddenly, a phone buzzed and Chase’s pen froze, though his posture didn’t change. There was silence, no reaction to the message, no quiet murmur, but he heard the couch cushions move as one leaned forward, obviously showing the message to his companion. It didn’t take him long to come to a conclusion.

Chase moved the pen slightly in his grasp, and as one of the marshals stood so did he, the writing device flung from his hand and slicing through the man’s eye with an ugly squelch. The second tried to rush Adrian, but he countered, grabbing a hold of his coat and tie and pulling it tight against the marshal’s neck, twisting the man until he stood behind him.

He struggled, and Chase felt warm blood seeping out of his bullet wound as it was torn open painfully. He didn’t move but pulled a little harder only releasing the man when he went limp. Slowly, he walked over to the other, picking up the pen and stepping forward, ramming it repeatedly into his throat and face.

On the moonlit road, police cars rushed by him, ignoring the small, nondescript vehicle as it drove casually past. Chase, his face still splattered with blood, smiled to himself as he drove, turning on the radio and casually whistling along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so late and so I don't even know any more


	15. How to Cope

_Oliver Queen’s Apartment, Star City_

It took several calls before Oliver was fully able to reclaim his apartment. He stepped inside, closing the door and looking at the plastic stretched over the space where a window used to be. He made a mental note to thank Thea for cleaning the place up. It was cold, and since several things had been damaged when Chase set up the scene, empty. Oliver didn’t even bother to turn on the lights.

He toyed with the idea of going back to Slade’s place. But remembering the Australian’s claim of being busy, didn’t want to disturb him. He cast aside the thought. He walked into the bedroom, pulling out a clean pair of clothes and setting them on the bed. Stripping off his jacket and shirt, he deposited the latter in the laundry bin. His entire body was a mass of pain, not all of it a dull ache after the fight. He crossed to the medicine cabinet and rifled through, pulling out an orange pill bottle and tipping it until one white pill fell onto the counter. He took the pill with a glass of water. Typically, he tried to avoid painkillers, but now, with just a few hours to catch up on sleep, he didn’t have any desire to be kept awake the rest of the night. His leg had just started to bother him again, the bullets had obviously done damage that was healing very slowly.

He cleaned up, showering and changing into a clean pair of sweatpants. After, he rebandaged his injuries. He had popped a stich in his hip, from the place Chase had shot him, and he was forced to redo it, wincing as he pushed the curved needle through his skin, feeling the silk thread drag after it.

The rest of the injuries were easier to treat, and once he was finished, Oliver washed his hands, putting away the supplies and limp back to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, basking in the silence. The beam of street lights slipped through the windowpanes, tiptoeing along the floor in streaks. It felt strange to be in solitude, away from the city once again. Even in the office, he hadn’t been surrounded by this type of seclusion. He was tired, but though his mind felt simply numb, Oliver still couldn’t sleep. He pushed himself up onto his feet again, leaving the bedroom and returning to the living room. He hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights except those in the bathroom when he had looked over his injuries. The grey darkness was almost comforting.

He wandered about almost aimlessly, pouring himself another glass of water from the tap. For the first time in a while, he was truly alone to simply think things over. He drained the glass of water, setting it down in the sink with a soft clink. He was just turning away from the counter when something white caught his eye. Turning, Oliver reached out to pick up the small, folded piece of paper. He straightened it, reading the two words written in neat script, black ink standing out against the color of the paper.

_You made the wrong choice._

His hand crushed the paper into a ball. It was directly underneath the medicine cabinet, it hadn’t been there previously. Oliver dropped the paper into the trash, sleep was out of the question. He started towards the door and then stopped. He knew, even without thinking about it, where he had intended to go. He couldn’t.

**XxxX**

_Ridge Point Complex, Apartment 307, Star City_

Slade left the lair in pursuit of solitude. The Mirakuru was raging in his mind, shattering his coherent thought slowly. He had no direction, initially, merely moving as the serum prompted him to move. Eventually, he found himself back at the apartment, locking the door securely and stalking into the darkened room.

“You tried to get rid of me,” the voice, full of accusation and amusement made Slade freeze. Slowly, he turned his head, looking over his shoulder into the darkened room. He could barely make out a figure standing in the shadows of the room. He glared at the intrusion, locking the door.

“Why are you here?” He growled. The slim, black-haired woman walked a little further into the room. She was still slightly transparent but the fact she was _here_ was enough to set Slade on edge. The past two lapses had lowered his defenses against the serum.

“A better question is why did you come here?” She countered, circling around him like some sort of predator.

“You’re not her,” he said shortly, trying to shut out the intruder. She didn’t leave and he stalked over to the counter, trying to fall into a routine of cleaning, cooking, anything to keep his mind off of the apparition not far away.

“Do you think you can make things right?” She mocked and anger rushed through him. “Trying to clean up your horrific failure?”

_Crack!_

The countertop snapped under Slade’s grip and he swung back around to glare at her. She was easier to see now, more solid, not as transparent. The Australian felt a sudden flash of panic at that realization. “He had nothing to do with your death,” he snarled. “None of it was his fault.”

“He had a choice,” the warped ghost of Shado moved closer. _No, he didn’t._ So long ago, he would have believed those words, but eight years had given him clarity.

“Ivo would have killed you either way. It was not Oliver’s fault,” he didn’t care that he had repeated himself. “You will not convince me otherwise, not again.”

“You care for him,” she said in a scornful tone. “Is that why you came back? Because of some _pathetic_ loyalty? Oliver will always hate you. You’ll see that, once he decides you’re no longer useful. You don’t belong in his life.” The cracked piece of counter flew across the room, smashing against the far wall. Shado’s ghost smirked. “See? You are going to betray him again.”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Slade roared. It wasn’t the first time he had yelled those words, but this time, they didn’t have any effect. The ghost didn’t leave, and burning with anger, Slade fumbled with a hidden holster, his hands shaking with rage.

The gun came loose and he held it tightly, turning his back to stalk away from the ghost. Desperation and fury battled inside of him, he had fallen into this trap more than once. Fallen into a hole that he couldn’t pull himself out of. But then he had found a brief relief, a coping mechanism, per se.

“Haven’t you learned already, it’s temporary,” the intruder watched him, disdain clear in her features. “You can’t run away from the truth. It’s going to happen.” The noise of the shot in such a tight area was loud and abrupt. Blood splattered the cupboards and Slade fell to the floor, unable to catch himself, the room blurring and darkening around him.

It was a temporary fix.

**XxxX**

Evelyn slid her key into the lock, turning it and opening the door. The lights were on inside, and she paused, knocking and waiting.

“You don’t need to knock,” Slade called. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and shrugged.

“Your apartment,” she said. Slade stood by the sink, ringing water out of rags. She frowned, questioning herself before asking; “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.” Slade grunted.

“It’s one in the morning,” Evelyn pointed out.

“It is,” Slade replied, and Evelyn got the distinct impression he wasn’t open to conversation. He was giving short answers, his gaze fixated on his hands as he worked. He dropped the clothes in the trash. “I need to look into some things.” He paused. “You alright?” There was a subtle shift in his tone as he distracted himself from whatever was on his mind.

“Yeah,” Evelyn replied immediately. Slade looked unconvinced and she spread both hands wide. “Really, talking to everyone went _a lot_ better than I thought it would. And I had something that wasn’t oats soaked in cold water. So, life’s going great.”

“Okay,” he nodded, retrieving his jacket from the back of a chair. “Make sure you keep the door locked.” He was out of the door in question within few seconds, and Evelyn stared after him, a nagging feeling in the back of her skull. She locked the door, and sat on the edge of the couch, pulling her phone out of her pocket and scrolling through the contacts. Finding the one she needed, she opened a new message.

**S is acting weird, not sleeping and kind of off -Evelyn**

She included her name as an afterthought, thinking Oliver might just ignore the text if he didn’t recognize the number. Felicity had insisted they all program the team’s respective numbers in, but that didn’t mean the archer had. She dropped the device again, not expecting any response due to the late hour. She went to her black duffle, sorting through her things and pulling out a clean shirt and leggings. Her phone dinged. “None of us sleep,” she muttered to herself, picking it up.

**Give him space.**

It was a frustrating reply, especially as it seemed to suggest Oliver knew what was going on, but wasn’t about to tell her anything. At the same time, she had to admit that it was reasonable. If Slade was dealing with something, that was his business, not hers. Still…

**He was cleaning at one in the morning**

She wasn’t saying he wasn’t a tidy person. But cleaning at one in the morning was one of those obsessive germophobe things and he definitely didn’t seem like that type.

**He’ll be alright.**

Obviously, Oliver wasn’t going to tell her anything, and Evelyn sighed, shutting the phone off and giving up. He was probably right, Slade would be fine.

**XxxX**

Oliver was worried. Worried might have even been an understatement. The fact that someone else had noticed Slade acting off meant he hadn’t just been imagining something, and that something was wrong with the Australian, and Oliver was fairly sure he knew what it was. He didn’t want Evelyn to get involved. It seemed unlikely Slade would endanger them with serum. He had told Oliver, after all, that he had found a way to manage it.

But Oliver wasn’t sure if he liked the word ‘manage’ and what it implied. _How_ was the Australian managing the serum? He knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

**XxxX**

_SCPD Precinct, Star City_

“The mayor needs a security detail,” Frank Pike stated. As soon as Dinah had come in that morning, he had requested to see her. A little uncertain as to the meaning of the appointment, and a little nervous, she made her way over, meeting him in his office. He hadn’t kept her waiting long before he jumped into the reason for the meeting. At his words she straightened, immediately recognizing the future threat this could pose.

“Didn’t the mayor consistently ditch his previous detail?” she asked, knowing the answer full well. Pike nodded sagely.

“He did, but with the DA unmasked as a serial killer, we need to make sure all city officials are safe. SCPD is too swamped to take care of security,” he added, just as Dinah was about to volunteer herself. She closed her mouth, a little put off.

“So why did you ask to talk to me about this, Captain?” she asked. “If SCPD is unavailable, the city can choose to promote its own security.”

“Too risky,” Pike argued. “If Chase could get to the DA position, there’s no telling if anyone else has their own vendetta as well.”

“You want them to hire private bodyguards?” Dinah guessed, coming to the last logical conclusion. Pike nodded, verifying her thought.

“It seems the best course of action,” he said. “It’ll be more expensive, but they only need to keep the contract until Chase has been arrested. I was hoping you might have some suggestions? I know John Diggle used to work security, but as he’s retired, I didn’t know of any others.

“I don’t,” Dinah stopped midsentence, her brain working quickly. “I might know someone, very reliable and definitely not a mole.”

“Good, talk to officials and set it up,” Pike said. She looked at him in surprise, expecting more questions and resistance. “I trust your judgement, Drake, and I have enough paperwork to be willing to pass this off.” She nodded, still taken aback but appreciating the sign of faith.

“Thank you, captain, I’ll look into it immediately.”

**XxxX**

_City Hall, Star City_

Oliver was going to have to get used to the strange looks he kept receiving as soon as he walked into City Hall. Everyone knew about Chase, and naturally, it was the only topic of conversation. While it had been a good move on the team’s part, sweeping the rug out from under Chase’s feet so to speak, it also put Oliver in a difficult position. Many people believed he had known about this earlier, and it was only a matter of time before people started demanding answers.

He had just entered his office when Dinah walked through the glass doors, looking around before her expression fell fractionally. A little surprised by the abrupt entrance, Oliver set down his work momentarily.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Maybe not. Pike’s insisting you have some sort of security detail, the rest of the city officials already do,” she replied. “SCPD can’t avoid to assign any officers to the position and security by the city itself is problematic.”

“That could cause trouble,” Oliver admitted.

“Since John retired from the job some years ago, it’d be hard to get him back,” she continued. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright with me taking care of this, Pike assigned me.” Dinah must of seen his expression, because she moved on quickly. “Oliver, we can’t put this off. If we do, it’ll just cause more suspicions.” Reluctantly, he nodded.

“I get it,” he relented. “I would actually be very glad if took care of it.”

“Great,” Dinah said. “I’ll look into our options.” She gestured to the work piled on his desk. “And let you get back to all that fun.” She turned, leaving the office, and Oliver missed her suddenly pensive expression. She pulled a phone out of her pocket, texting Rene and Curtis.

**Does anyone know how to reach Slade Wilson?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, as have been all my other chapters this week, but there wasn't going to be much else if I tried to keep going. As always, I love to hear your thoughts and whatnot.


	16. Smoke and Fire

_City Hall, Star City_

Oliver didn’t put much more thought into his conversation with Dinah. He trusted her to take care of it however she saw fit and put his focus in the mess that was his job. He had four meetings just that morning, one that had been called nearly an hour before it was scheduled to start. It was as though half of City Hall had forgotten how to do their job and the other half wasn’t even trying. These were the times he missed being out in the streets, and maybe the fact he was more willing to take a bullet than to sit through a meeting said something about him.

On top of all that, his disappearance hadn’t endeared him to anyone. While most believed the story about the Green Arrow attacking and abducting him, there were a radical few who had come up with some conspiracy about Oliver arranging the entire thing for a publicity stunt. The first group was angry about the previous supposed ‘cover-ups’ concerning the vigilante. While not all of his work and meetings were centered around those things, it lay heavily on the mood underlying his morning. By midday, Oliver was ready to shoot several of his coworkers. Even with Quentin working alongside him, the sheer force they were fighting felt overwhelming.

At midday, things slowed down fractionally for break hour, and Oliver was able to track down Quentin to discuss the meetings with him. He found the deputy mayor pouring himself a cup of coffee from the machine that ran through the entire day. As Oliver approached, he noticed the stiff figure in a suit standing a couple of steps behind Quentin who gave him a cursory nod. Quentin looked up, seeing Oliver and walking over to join him, the man trailing after.

“I see Pike gave you a new shadow,” Oliver commented as they walked. Lance seemed less than happy with the situation.

“Yeah, distracting as hell,” he replied. “Guess now I see why Laurel would get so pissed whenever I assigned an officer to her.” He gave Oliver a sideways look. “I see you’re in the clear for now.”

“For now,” Oliver repeated, stressing the words. “Pike assigned Dinah to find someone who couldn’t possibly be aligned with Chase.” Quentin nodded his understanding.

“Not a bad idea,” he pointed out. “We don’t know what Chase has planned.” With Quentin’s bodyguard still walking behind them, Oliver didn’t dare to say what he was thinking, and instead, tried to communicate his point through the look he gave the deputy mayor. Lance seemed to pick up on his unspoken statement.

Their conversation turned to the meetings of that morning, discussing things briefly before they both would have to return to their work. While they had both attended many of the same meetings, they had not previously had the chance to talk openly about the details. As they walked, the people they passed glanced up. Oliver had grown accustomed to the quick, nervous looks people threw his way now, but Quentin wasn’t. His head turned to stare at each person in return, silently seeming to dare them to voice their thoughts. Oliver hadn’t been prepared to the hostility he had come back to, although truthfully, he had no reason to be surprised. They stopped by Quentin’s office, their conversation coming to an end as the two men prepared to return to their respective positions.

“If anything does happen, give me an update on the situation wi-” the explosion interrupted Quentin as it ripped through the building, throwing shards of wall through the air. Oliver and Quentin were thrown to the ground, Lance’s bodyguard disappearing from view.

**XxxX**

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Dinah told Slade, glancing up from the papers she was reading to brief him on the subject. They were on the steps of City Hall. After going from Rene, to Curtis, to Evelyn, who didn’t have Slade’s number but knew his usual location, Dinah was finally able to reach out to the man and breach the subject. Wilson shrugged.

“It simplifies a majority of our problems,” he said passively, not seeming to believe that any thanks was necessary. Dinah nodded.

“It does. It also takes care of the problem of Oliver ditching his detail,” she agreed. She had yet to mention that Oliver didn’t know about this particular development. She knew if things happened quick enough, Oliver wouldn’t have an opportunity to argue, and that was the window she was hoping for. Before they turned to enter the building, Dinah held out an ID to Slade. “Curtis fixed up a pretty authentic ID and background information to make this a little less questionable.” She told him. He took it. He looked less out of place than she had expected, the dark grey suit was enough to make him appear less of a danger, although the eyepatch still caused the occasional person to look twice. Privately, Dinah suspected he had a fair arsenal of weapons on his body, business suit or no.

“I’ll take you in,” she said. “Make sure there aren’t any problems.” Wilson could handle problems, but if it was simply something with the security of the building not letting him past, Dinah would prefer to handle it. Wilson seemed to have some…questionable methods to working things out.

Fortunately, security let them in without a hassle, recognizing Dinah and accepting her story on Slade immediately. In the future, things should go just as well. They passed through the lower level, Dinah making muttered explanations whenever she saw someone important. They were halfway to the elevator, when the building shook, a muffled explosion echoing through the walls.

**XxxX**

Oliver caught a glimpse of the darkly clad figures running in through the door through the confusion and smoke from the explosion, they were armed, and Oliver kept low, wary of attracting attention. He heard muffled screams, and moved forward, Quentin following after him. Instinctively, Oliver crept towards the nearest dark figure, intending to attack. He was almost there when Lance’s arm shot out, holding him back as the deputy mayor frantically shook his head. The message was clear, but Oliver wasn’t about to be reasonable. He shook Lance off and lunged forward, taking the figure out before he had time to register Oliver’s presence.

Oliver heard dull clanks as metal canisters dropped onto the ground, depositing bright red smoke into the air, making it impossible to see far. Additionally, it made it near impossible to breathe. He struggled to pull the fallen attacker’s gas mask off, and threw it at Quentin. He moved away before Lance had a chance to inevitably try to convince Oliver to take the mask instead. Whoever was attacking would notice the mayor’s absence immediately. The deputy mayor, however, would be easier to overlook. Someone emerged from the smoke behind Oliver, and the archer barely had time to register the type of rifle he held before the military-grade weapon was trained on him. It was smoky enough that Oliver considered fighting back, but another masked interloper appeared, and he didn’t attack. Several other figures were shoved next to him and made to kneel. The smoke burned at their unprotected eyes and throats. Even though most of the hostages, including Oliver, had pulled material over their mouths and noses, it did not offer complete protection. A distorted voice rang through the smoky air.

“This is a warning! Star City is sick of putting up with bastards who think they’re gods; we’re done with vigilantes!” It was impossible to tell the direction it came from until the speaker appeared in front of the line of hostage city employees. “But here you all are! Just sitting on your asses and ignoring the city’s needs!”

Oliver’s eyes moved quickly. He counted at least ten attackers. As they had rifles, and, he had to assume, real bullet, attempt to charge them was out of the question. He didn’t see Quentin in the line next to him, so Oliver hoped he had gotten away. He looked back straight at the masked figure stopped in front of him, staring down through the gas mask. Oliver met his gaze indifferently, fighting down the urge to tackle the man. There were too many loose guns around them, and too many civilians who might get injured.

“Until the SCPD takes steps to end vigilantism for good, we will be forced to take steps to motivate them.” The masked man lifted his rifle, and Oliver didn’t flinch, even as the barrel trained on him. “Besides, if the DA was a masked bastard, who else here is? I say we wipe the slate clean and start over.” His finger moved down the trigger as him companions shouted out wordless cries of agreement.

**XxxX**

“What’s going on?” Dinah cornered a security guard, snapping out the question. He was obviously distracted, and could barely afford to spare her a glance.

“Someone set of explosives on the third floor,” he reported. “We can’t get up there, all the elevators are down and the stairways are locked from the inside.” As soon as he spoke, he moved away, headed for a group of his coworkers.

“I suspect that’s the floor Oliver’s on?” Slade asked. He sounded much calmer than Dinah had expected. She gave a brisk nod.

“Along with Quentin, both offices are on that level,” Dinah said grimly. She looked at him. “Well you’re officially working as the mayor’s security, any ideas?”

“Cut the power,” Wilson replied, almost immediately, Dinah looked at him doubtfully and he clarified. “If the doors on the stairwell are locked, it’s a high chance its electronic. The elevators are already done.” He lowered his voice adding. “And it might give Oliver the opportunity to take care of the problem.”

“Follow me.”

**XxxX**

Just as the man’s finger tightened, the lights shut off. And with the air already filled with smoke, the added darkness made it impossible to see. Oliver immediately reached out, pulling the two employees on either side of him down to the ground. Bullets punched into the floor around them, and Oliver heard several screams. One of the employees he had ahold of went limp, and Oliver immediately let go. He pushed the other forward, out of the area of fire and followed after. In the dark confusion, he knew the other hostages would undoubtedly try to run, but he had no idea how far any of them would get. He pulled the other, living person after him, and fortunately, they understood, and followed. Oliver stayed low, eyes scanning the space in front of him. Even so he was spotted first, and as a gun barrel reared out of the darkness, Oliver made a half spin, kicking out the attackers’ legs and dropped him. There was a clink, then an explosion of fire, lighting the room, and Oliver fell back away from the sudden heat. One of the attackers had dropped some sort of explosive, and now, the entire hall was going up in flames.

**XxxX**

After sprinting down into the foundations of the building and cutting the power, they ran back up the stairs, this time avoiding the lobby and headed up to the third floor. The doors at the end of the stairwell had opened easily, and the two of them pressed inward.

They had just taken a few steps into the dark interior of the hallway when a figure seemed to materialize in front of them, and within a split second, Wilson was wielding a gun.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Quentin startled at the sight of them, holding up both hands. Slade immediately let his weapon down. He looked past Lance, and Dinah suspected he was hoping to see someone else behind the deputy mayor.

“Where’s Oliver?” Dinah demanded. Quentin gestured back in the direction he had come.

“He didn’t get out of the room,” he said, regret painting his tone. “There was a group of masked attackers. They set up smoke screen.” He pointed to a door just a few feet down. “I gathered up all the others on this floor and got them into a spare office. We need to get them down to ground level.”

“Can you handle that alone?” Dinah asked. Immediately, Lance nodded.

“No problem,” he replied. “You two be careful, the invaders are carrying military-grade firearms.” Wilson looked suitably unimpressed, already walking past Lance without another word. Dinah clapped Quentin on the shoulder as she passed.

“I think we can handle it.”

**XxxX**

The room was lit by the fire, and whatever shelter the darkness had given them was now gone. Oliver glanced back to the woman he had pulled clear, now able to see her clearly, and gestured for her to get behind shelter. She did so, and Oliver just managed to duck done himself before one of the attackers turned, firing bullets into the wall behind him.

Several hostages tried to make wild breaks for the door, but they were easily shot down. Oliver counted four, unmoving bodies, lying facedown on the floor. He had to do something before the count was upped. The rest of the employees had taken shelter behind anything that offered space, some even forcing their way into Quentin’s office and locking the door. The intruders stationed themselves by the door, and anytime one of the hostages tried to move, they’d shoot. The standoff would end poorly, and Oliver was done thinking about the consequences. He was close to one of the exits, and Oliver rose up partway, lunging forward and tackling one of the intruders before he had a chance to bring his rifle around to bear. He slammed into his partner, throwing the other off balance, and Oliver easily took his rifle, knocking the man out with a sharp right hook. He raised the rifle, sniping down the intruders he could see on the other side of the room before he was forced to turn back and take care of the other attacker. That was four, the other six had disappeared. Oliver kicked open the door. He turned back to the woman, who stared at him, eyes wide. The smoke was getting heavier.

“Get out!” He told her, and she snapped into awareness, rushing away. The other hostages still in the hallway followed suit. Oliver moved back to the door to Quentin’s office. He tried the handle, but it was locked, and he stepped back, kicking the door inward. The force knocked over an employee who had been holding onto it, and he rolled back, alarm painting his features. Oliver ignored him. “There’s a door open!” He shouted into the room. “Everyone out! Head to the stairs!” They all rushed past him and Oliver turned to follow, throwing away the rifle. The flames were spreading impossibly fast. Out in the hallway, one of the employees had stopped, the others still rushing on to the stairwell. He turned around, headed back for the hallway. Oliver caught his arm, dragging him forward again. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Elise, my fiancé, she’s still in there!” there was a note of panic in the man’s tone. Oliver shoved him back to the stairs.

“Stick with the others,” he ordered. “I’ll go back.” He made it into the hallway, ducking around flames. He had just made it into the hallway when there was a creak behind him, and the ceiling caved. He could see the man on the other side, obviously, he hadn’t taken Oliver’s advice. That, however, was the least of the archer’s worries, as he was now stuck in the burning building with no escape route.

**XxxX**

They were nearly trampled by the group of city employees that rushed through the hallways, crashing into Slade and Dinah. Slade managed to push down the instincts that screamed at him these were enemies. He scanned the group of panicked faces, but he saw no sign of Oliver. His concern, already consuming his mind, grew.

“Keep going!” Dinah called to the group. “You’re almost there! Just go straight into the stairwell and head down!” They were more than happy to follow the order. The ceiling creaked ominously, and Slade heard a crash. He knew Dinah heard it, though not as clearly, as she broke into a sprint just seconds after he started running towards the noise. He expected the worse, he couldn’t help it. Something inside of him was so certain that Oliver was severely hurt, at the very least. They rounded several corners and passed through a hallway before they saw the figure of the man kneeling in front of a burning wall of debris. For one glorious moment, Slade thought it was Oliver. But then he turned his head, and the features were wrong, the hair too light. Dinah dropped down next to him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Elise is still in the room,” he replied, there was a note of despair in his voice. “The mayor went after her and the roof collapsed.” Slade stared at the burning obstacle, taking a few steps back, trying to find any sort of opening he might be able to jump through. But a moment later, there was a voice on the other side.

**XxxX**

Oliver didn’t waste time staring at the collapsed ceiling. He moved back to the office, struggling to draw in air, eyes watering from the smoke. When he finally reached the office, it was almost impossible to see. Dropping down closer to the floor, Oliver crawled forward. He was halfway across the space when he spotted the limp body, and reached out, dragging it to him. Slowly, painfully, his still damaged body protesting, Oliver pushed himself to his feet, dragging the woman up. She was unconscious, but had a pulse, and he stumbled forward. The smoke was thinner near the ground, but he couldn’t afford to move so slowly.

It felt like hours before he made it back to the barricade. The room was getting impossibly hot, all other sounds drowned out by the roar and crackle of the flames. He could barley breathe, barely see, but he saw the barricade and as he dropped down next to it, he managed a few words. “I’m pushing her through!”

“Oliver!” he must have been hallucinating the voice, but shifting to see through a crack in the debris, Oliver saw Slade, almost pressed up against the burning obstacle. It was going to be okay, then, somehow. He saw Dinah as well, standing back.

Oliver took off his jacket, wrapping the woman’s body in it, it covered her bare arms and would protect her against the flames. He lifted her, and stepped closer to the debris, wincing at the heat. He saw Slade follow his movement on the other side, and as Oliver moved forward, pushing the woman’s body through the flames, Slade immediately caught her, pulling her through. Task completed Oliver took a step back, trying to find an escape for himself. The ceiling groaned.

**XxxX**

Oliver didn’t respond to his name, but Slade knew he registered it, and he tracked the archer’s movements. When the figure appeared in the gap left between the debris and wall, he lunged forward catching the woman and pulling her through. He set her down, and the man immediately moved towards her. Dinah cut in.

“We need to get her out,” she told him. The man stood, and between the two of them, they pulled the unconscious woman to her feet. Dinah glanced back at Slade, worried about Oliver. He was just seconds away from telling her to go when the ceiling gave a warning groan.

“Go!” And without hesitation, Slade did the only logical thing to his mind at that moment. He threw himself directly into the debris, falling forward onto the other side.

**XxxX**

Oliver hadn’t been expecting Slade to jump through. The Australian made it, rolling away from the flames and putting out the few sparks on his clothes. Scarcely a second later, more of the ceiling collapsed, truly trapped them. The archer stared at Slade.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “There’s no way out back here.”

“We’ll find a way,” Slade argued.

“There are none!” Oliver snapped. Sparks flew out, and he flinched away from the barricade. “We’re three stories up, you should have gone with Dinah.” The Australian stood frozen, eye quickly flicking between the barricade and further back.

“Move,” he caught Oliver’s arm and pulled the archer after him, forcing Oliver to adhere to his idea. They made it into Quentin’s office, although why the Australian wanted to be there, Oliver had no idea. It was burning, like everywhere else, and just as much of a dead end. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” it was a strange question, shouted about the roar of the fire. Slade wasted a moment, looking straight at him.

“Do you trust me?” he needed an answer, whatever he was planning, he needed to know Oliver would allow him to do without argument.

“Completely,” he didn’t know where the answer came from, but in the middle of a burning building, with no escape, Oliver didn’t think it mattered. “But that doesn’t change our predicament.” But Slade’s eyes had just shifted to the massive windows behind the desk, and Oliver stopped speaking abruptly. He couldn’t mean…he looked back at Oliver. “I trust you.” It was a terrible idea.

More ceiling collapsed behind them, and Slade barely had time to pull Oliver back before a beam suddenly dropped, nearly onto the archer. “Hold on.” Oliver didn’t have much time to react. They both sprinted towards the window, and just before they lunged forward and connected with the glass, Oliver wrapped his arms around Slade, holding on tightly. He felt the Australian’s own arms go around him and pulling him in close. And then they hit the glass, it shattered around them, and fresh air hit Oliver. Then they were falling, and his only thought was to cling to Slade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, this story isn't dead.


	17. It Always Circles Back Here

They crashed to the ground, and Oliver felt as though he had been hit by a freight train. Somewhere in their freefall, Slade had manipulated his own body underneath Oliver’s, keeping him from connecting with the cement. But the sheer force of their bodies slamming into the ground was not to be stopped. His body screamed out in agony, and Oliver guessed he had broken at least one rib, most likely more, the bone buckling under the pressure.

It took him a moment to catch his breath. After a moment, Oliver untangled his hands from Slade’s jacket, moving sideways off of the Australian. Reacting to the movement, Slade’s arms dropped, releasing Oliver from the tight hold he had kept the archer in. He grunted as he picked himself up.

“You alright, kid?” Slade himself looked no worse for the wear, rolling his shoulders as if that was enough to get rid of the effects of the fall. Oliver followed his example, hands bracing on the cement as he pushed himself up.

“I think so,” he managed. He pressed a hand to his side lightly and grimaced. “That was a bad idea.” He added. A dull noise rumbled through the air, and they both looked up, seeing the roof of City Hall collapse.

“Compared to some of our others, I’d say it went well,” Slade commented casually. Flames were now pouring out of the window they had jumped from.

“That is a very low bar,” Oliver pointed out. Slade chuckled, and Oliver shook his head, not noticing the small smile that snuck onto his face in response. “We should go, see if anyone knows what happened.”

**XxxX**

Dinah had gotten the man and his fiancé to safety. Now, she stood by the group of shell-shocked hostages, watching firefighters and police officers pour out of their vehicles, swamping the area. Captain Pike made a beeline towards her. Just behind him, Rene, Curtis and Evelyn, had also arrived, the latter two subtly stepping aside. Curtis pulled out a round ball from his pocket, glancing around and setting it in the rubble. Rene followed the police captain, headed for Dinah.

“How many are still in there?” Pike demanded. Dinah, unable to give any accurate answer, looked at one of the security guards who, fortunately, overheard the question.

“We got all living people out,” he reported. “However, some employees reported seeing bodies after the intruders opened fire.”

“What about Oliver?” Rene interrupted. Dinah shook her head.

“The last time I saw him, he was on the other side of a burning pile of debris,” she reported. “I don’t know if he made it out.”

“I’m here.”

They all turned to see Oliver walking towards them. His white dress shirt was stained with ash and something that looked suspiciously like blood. Dinah glanced over his shoulder, sure enough, Slade Wilson followed, looking a little less tattered.

“There were at least six civilians shot,” Oliver said. Dinah was unsure if he had heard Pike’s earlier question or was simply jumping to the point, he considered most important. “Several more were at least shot. Some might not realize it, we need to get all of them to the hospital.” Pike nodded, gesturing back to the figures of EMTs who had just arrived.

“We’ll get anyone to the hospital who needs it,” he said reassuringly.

“That includes you,” Dinah cut it, giving Oliver a serious look. As she had expected, the archer shook off the suggestion immediately.

“I’m better off than most of them,” he said dismissively. “There were at least ten attackers in the building, four are dead, I suspect the other six escaped. Everything they had, Kevlar, masks, rifles, was high grade.”

“Doesn’t sound like they planned on this being a onetime thing,” Rene remarked.

“Did they give any reasons for what the attack was about?” Slade asked from behind Oliver. The archer half turned, taking a small step to look at him.

“One of them gave a small speech, he started with vigilantism and the city’s lack of offense towards vigilantes in general. But after that, it was almost like he moved on to what sounded like anarchy. He said something about the city board being corrupted, like Chase, and suggested wiping the slate clean.” Rene made a face at that, and Dinah was glad Pike didn’t see it.

“Definitely doesn’t sound like a onetime thing,” Dinah agreed with Rene’s earlier statement. “I don’t suppose you got any of their supplies?”

“I didn’t, I gave Quentin a gas mask one of them was wearing, I don’t know if he was able to hold onto it.” Oliver replied. Pike nodded.

“He’s with a medic now, I’ll check,” he turned, and added to Dinah at a normal volume. “You see if you can convince him to go to the hospital, we don’t need the mayor dropping right now.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dinah said, the captain walking away. Curtis and Evelyn passed him, coming to join the group. Dinah lifted her eyebrows at Oliver, not even bothering to phrase the question as he was already shaking his head.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you always say,” Slade replied. “Which admittedly is an improvement from you complaining about everything.”

“Wait really?” Evelyn asked, looking between the both of them.

“Okay, _everything_ is an exaggeration,” Oliver defended himself, there was no real injury in his tone. “And if you hadn’t continually hit me with sticks and called it training, I would have had a lot less to complain about.”

“I’m sorry can you repeat that?” Rene interrupted, a slow grin spreading across his features. Oliver crossed his arms glaring at all of them.

“How about we focus on the problem at hand,” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. Fortunately, probably due to the wreckage around them, turning the conversation to a more serious note was easy.

“One of my T-Spheres recovered a cartridge from the wreckage,” Curtis reported. “I’ll bring it back to the lair and see if Felicity can trace it.”

“If I can bring one back to SCPD, we might be able to cross reference it with other crimes in the past,” Dinah offered. Curtis nodded, taking the T-Sphere out of his pocket and tinkering with it for a moment.

“I’ll see if it can find another,” he said. “I would say we can just take pictures and have the diagnostics of one shell, but I don’t want to risk being wrong.”

“I get it, thanks,” Dinah replied. The little ball whirled away, staying low to the ground and going unnoticed in by the people milling about.

“I know you’ll be busy with that shell, but I need either you or Felicity to look into the buildings surveillance and see if you can find anything about the attack.” Oliver said, moving the conversation on. “Evelyn and Rene, there’s nothing for you to do yet, but you shouldn’t hang around here. We need to be more subtle about the team gathering in public like this. You too.” He included Slade. “If we keep having people show up, someone’s bound to start asking questions.” Slade’s gaze went past him meeting Dinah’s, and Oliver turned, trying to read the look. “What?” he asked.

“Did you not tell him?” Slade asked, ignoring Oliver’s question momentarily. Dinah pinched her lips together, shaking her head.

“Tell me _what_?” Oliver said, looking at both of them for an answer.

“You told me to take care of the security problem,” Dinah reminded him. “And I did. Since we didn’t want to run the risk of your detail ever managing to follow you back to the bunker, if you ditched them-”

“No.” Oliver caught on quickly, and he didn’t waste time making his opinion of the matter clear. The others still seemed a little lost, Slade was staying out of the argument for now, his head tipped to one side. “We can’t afford to…” he trailed off, glancing back. Honestly, he didn’t have a good excuse he could offer without a lot of explanation. Because really, Dinah had a point, it was the most logical, convenient answer to their predicament. Logically, it was perfect. Except it wasn’t, and Oliver didn’t think he was ready to explain why it wasn’t. He glanced at Slade, and the Australian met his gaze. He knew what Oliver was thinking, the archer realized suddenly, he knew exactly way Oliver wasn’t fond of the idea. And Slade was the first to look away.

“We can find another solution later,” the Australian inserted quietly. “This is temporary.” Oliver couldn’t bring himself to look at Slade again. It was unfair of him to have those same goddamn fears and hesitations stuck in his skull. The only thing Slade had done since coming to Star was clean up Oliver’s mess, and yet, the archer still couldn’t chase away the dark uncertainties that clung to him. Dinah raised her eyebrows at Oliver.

“Does that work?” she asked, her tone making it obvious she only expected on answer. Oliver gave a faint nod, and she moved the conversation on. “You need to stop by the hospital,” she told him seriously. Her brow furrowed momentarily as she looked towards Slade. “You should two in fact…how did you two even get out?”

“Window,” Oliver replied waving vaguely at the building behind them. He should have expected the incredulous looks he got from the others as they thought through the situation, all of them except Evelyn wore the expression. The news didn’t seem to surprise the girl that much.

“You were on the third floor,” Rene pointed out, disbelief coloring his tone. “And you just jumped out the window, landed on _cement_ and then got up and walked away without a scratch?” Oliver instinctively reached out to Slade for a sort of lifeline, glancing at the Australian briefly to see if he was ready to add to the conversation. He seemed to be hesitating.

“Probably a couple broken ribs,” Oliver said dismissively. “Got lucky.”

“You need to be checked out,” Dinah stated firmly, for perhaps the fifth time. “We can’t rely on luck and can’t afford to have you die of some ruptured internal organ.” She had a point there. As sheltered as he had been from the fall, there was no telling what the pressure had done. Also, Slade looked as though he was about to take her side, and hoping to avoid that particular attack, Oliver nodded, showing his agreement. “Thank you,” the words were only faintly tinged with sarcasm. “I’ll go speak to a medic I’m sure they can-” the idea of going in an ambulance was sickening, and Oliver was relieved when Slade casually cut in.

“I’ll make sure he gets there.”

Dinah was taken aback by the interruption, and for a moment, Oliver thought she was going to argue. Then, surprisingly, she didn’t, merely nodded and shifting topics. “Great. I’ll make sure things get cleaned up, the rest of you, don’t get in the way, don’t be obvious.”

She turned and started away, undoubtedly going off to join the rest of the SCPD and learn more about the situation. The others drew away as well, and Slade gestured for Oliver to go first. The archer did so, although not walking fast enough to be ahead of the Australian.

“So what was that about?” he asked, once they were further away from the crowd of people.

“You didn’t look as though you’d enjoy being stuck in the emergency ward for half a day,” Slade replied. Oliver shot him a look.

“Wasn’t what I meant,” he said. Slade took a moment to respond. They reached the car, and Oliver walked around to the passenger’s side, almost given up on the idea of getting an answer. He slid inside, shutting the door and for a moment, as the Australian started the engine, there was silence. Then, he finally spoke.

“They were present for Blood’s attack on the city,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t think those things mattered to you,” Oliver said. “Apparently, you attacked a group of Russians in front of them. And now you don’t want any of them to know about your heightened abilities because they might relate it to Blood’s attack?”

“I think you have enough to deal with without having to worry about how much of an explanation you owe your friends,” Slade corrected. Oliver went to cross his arms and grimaced, dropping his hands down again.

“They’re going to figure out eventually,” Oliver replied quietly. “And avoiding the situation and keeping it from them might just make it worse.” He had thought about the situation a lot, there was no way he could tell them the full story, but they were bound to learn it sometime, and start asking questions, and making connections…he shook away the unwelcome concerns. “Or Sara will come by or anything like that.” He added. Slade gave a small shrug, seeming uncomfortable with the situation. The car eased out into traffic. It took longer to get out of the parking area for City Hall than usual, and once they were on the road, it was surprisingly devoid of cars.

“This is about Chase, isn’t it?” Oliver said suddenly. “Because no one thought he was dangerous but then he turned out to be Prometheus. Do you really think they’re going to panic if they figure out you were injected? They don’t have any reason to.”

“Blood’s attack?” Slade managed to fit more innocent sarcasm into the two words than the archer would have ever thought possible.

“Do you realize how damn circular this conversation is?” Oliver asked abruptly. “You obviously do not have a problem with people being in the dark, so why are you suddenly so adamant about keeping this a secret? You don’t care!” The light turned red, and the car stopped with a sharp jolt, making Oliver hold back a grimace. Something was bothering the Australian and Oliver couldn’t tell what. He couldn’t read Slade’s face, and he was far too busy with studying the road to even glance at the archer. “We’re not doing this.” Oliver warned. “Every time we have some sort of forward conversation, something happens and you just shut off, you can’t do that.”

“Exactly what do you define as ‘forward conversation’? Because I’m fairly certain the last one involved yelling about me going psychotic, which clearly, you still believe is likely to happen.” Slade finally, _finally_ turned to look at him, and Oliver felt his frustration mount. Of course, it was back to this, it always came back to this. It was as though they just couldn’t move on.

“I didn’t think Dinah should have assigned you because-” he was going to try to lie, to think up some quick excuse, but Slade cocked his head, seeming to dare Oliver to think up something, and anything he had dropped immediately. “Because I can’t convince myself the Mirakuru just stepped back.” Oliver let it out sharply. “I can’t believe that it’s all fine now. I _want_ to, goddamnit I want to. That would be…I want that to be true, but I can’t believe it.” It seemed impossible that after everything, the serum would just leave his mind in peace, and Oliver found himself constantly searching for even the slightest crack in Slade’s demeanor. Slade was regarding him, and Oliver found himself floundering for something else to say.

“I know.” The quiet admittance surprised him. He had expected anger from Slade, annoyance, disbelief, not this. “And it didn’t.” Oliver stiffened in his seat. “Not entirely.” Slade’s gaze dropped away from his, and Oliver had to fight down the urge to reach out to him. “There are still moments when…” he seemed to struggle to find words to describe whatever he was referring to. “But not near as bad as what happened on the island. In the past six years, maybe more, it’s never gotten that bad. It’s not going to.” The final part sounded like a promise.

“You can’t be certain,” Oliver pointed out, and Slade nodded. The archer sagged back in his seat. “But I trust you, I really do. In the building, that run in with Chase at the office, I know I trust you, I just…I overthink. I’m sorry, you don’t need that. And I want to help, with anything I can. I want to know that you can trust me as well.”

The car interior slipped into an odd silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, as both of them tried to find words. A car honked behind them, startling both to the realization the light was green, and probably had been for a long time. Slade muttered something uncomplimentary at the other driver as he started the car moving forward again, and Oliver laughed quietly.

“I don’t know where the hospital is,” Slade admitted. “It wasn’t one of the places I visited.”

“I don’t have internal bleeding anyway,” Oliver countered. The Australian spared him a sideways look. “I’ve been bleeding internally before, it’s not happening now.”

“Expert diagnosis,” Slade remarked dryly. They rounded a corner before he spoke again. “We’re going to the hospital, you’re getting checked out.” Oliver dropped his head back against the rest, shaking his head.

“Mother hen,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought Slade might be smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning into the most goddamn slow slowburn in existence and even I'm getting tired of it.


	18. Those Past Hurts

_Star City General Hospital_

“Are you here to prevent me from climbing out a window or being attacked?” Oliver gave up trying to ignore Slade’s presence, lifting his head to look at the older man, who was standing halfway between the window and door. Slade shrugged.

“Yes,” he said in way of response. Oliver shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he straightened in the chair, he felt like a child. They were in a small examination room, due to his status, Dr. Schwartz had suggested he be checked immediately, Oliver had argued however. He was better off than many of the other employees. It had taken over an hour hour before he was sent to a room and even more time until they were able to run the necessary tests, disappearing again to check the results.

“You’re impossible,” Oliver muttered. He dropped his head back to the wall behind the plastic chair, eyes falling shut. Faintly, he could here the bustle of activity outside the room, but he was exhausted enough that he allowed himself that small demerit in his usual rigid attentiveness, as long as Slade was there. He cracked his eyes open again as Slade spoke.

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping much.” He stated. Oliver narrowed his eyes, trying to guess where the statement was leading to. Once again, the Australian simply shrugged. “I thought you went back to your apartment last night.”

“I did,” Oliver said dismissively. “I got caught up with some work.”

“You still not able to sleep without waking up every couple hours or so?” It was a strange question, and coming from anyone else, Oliver would have immediately gotten defensive. Slade however, had grown used to his sleeping habits on Lian Yu, probably because that was where they started. He shrugged.

“Yeah kind of,” he saw the small change in Slade’s expression and retaliated before he could get lectured about sleeping. “That was more of a survival tactic you know, I had to make sure my roommate wasn’t going to stab me.” Slade snorted. “You didn’t have the best sleeping habits yourself. Especially sleeping with a sword that never ends well.” Slade drew in breath, about to retaliate, but at that moment, the exam room door opened, and they both immediately dropped the topic.

“Your seventh through tenth rib on your left side is fractured,” Dr. Schwartz stated, flipping through the papers in front of her. “There’s no internal bleeding, however, you will have to limit future activities for about two weeks.” Oliver nodded, not surprised by the news. He had broken his ribs before, and learned to differentiate the difference between fractures, bruises, and sprains naturally.

“Thank you,” he said politely. She hadn’t questioned Slade’s presence, and for that, Oliver was glad. Even with a ready explanation, he knew, due to the doctor’s unique level of knowledge concerning his nighttime activities, Oliver suspected she already assumed he was involved in the vigilante role. He pressed her for answers about the city employees. Between the hospital, morgue, and police, they had ascertained the casualties from the attack numbered seven. Small as it seemed, it was still far too high, it wasn’t acceptable.

It was nearly three hours later when they finally walked out into the day again, and late in the afternoon. Oliver glanced down at his phone, checking the time as they walked. “We need to stop by the lair, see if Felicity and Curtis made any headway with the evidence.” They stepped into the car.

“Do you think Chase was behind the attack?” Slade asked. Oliver responded with a small shrug.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t seem likely. They didn’t make any reference to him, as I said, the speaker mentioned anti-vigilantism, getting the police to start hunting vigilantes down, treating them like criminals. And if the DA had been a masked murderer, who could say no one else there was?” He shook his head. “It’s a matter of perspective, and to a lot of the citizens, there’s little difference between vigilantes and the masked people who do the opposite.”

“You’d be surprised just how common that is,” Slade replied. Oliver nodded.

“Go left,” he directed, gesturing to the turn ahead. Slade turned down the side road. It took them away from traffic, a shortcut of sorts that took a more discreet route back to the lair. They had been forced to find other ways to get to the bunker, not wanting to draw attention with constant traffic. It was only a few minutes later when they arrived. They stepped out of the car and entered the building, taking the elevator down to the lair.

The others were already there, all except Dinah, who was probably still at the precinct. Felicity and Curtis were entranced in their work, not even seeming to realize their entrance. Oliver mounted the dais, stepping up to look over their shoulders at the screens. “Any progress?” Rene, sitting in a corner, tossing a long since melted icepack up and down, glanced over, shaking his head.

“They’ve been like that since we got here,” he reported. Evelyn lay on her back on the floor, twirling an arrow above her head and John was going over some undoubtedly unnecessary maintenance to his guns. In short, they were all the image of bored impatience. Diggle set aside his weapon.

“Hospital let you off easy,” he commented. Oliver replied with a dismissive shrug.

“Couple broken ribs, nothing serious,” he replied easily.

“The two of you jumped out of a window on the _third_ story.” So Dinah was here, stepping out of the hallway, arms crossed and wearing an annoyed expression. “How is that your only injury?”

“Luck, I guess,” Oliver replied. The sound of crickets wouldn’t be out of place in the silence that followed. He let out a sigh, pressing his fingers to his forehead.

“Really?” Diggle prompted, his gaze shifted to Slade, still standing a few feet back. “’Cause this isn’t the first time he’s gotten through a potentially deadly situation without a scratch.” Ironically, that was what seemed to drag Curtis and Felicity’s respective attentions away from their computers to look between the arguers, nervous at the mounting discomfort in the room. Evelyn’s arrow had stilled, though she hadn’t sat up. Oliver didn’t know if Slade had told her any of the truth, but she seemed to have guessed several pieces. He cast about for some sort of reply, and was taken aback when Slade beat him to it.

“ASIS did some human experimentations back along the line,” he said casually, ignoring the look Oliver sent him. “Wasn’t quite what they hoped for, but I guess some of it stuck.” His previous words about fearing the team’s reaction to learning he had been injected with Mirakuru were suddenly so much clearer, and Oliver found himself sharing them. He gave John a look, and Diggle nodded in a reply, answering the unspoken inquiry and letting the matter lie.

“Well we haven’t had much luck,” Felicity stated, changing the subject abruptly. “Those guns and bullets were supposedly with a military division that is currently deployed. It doesn’t make sense how all their weapons and supplies would suddenly pop up with this group.”

“Unless some of them are part of it,” Rene put it.

“Or the smuggler who sold them the weapons stole them,” Evelyn added, sitting up and wrapping her arms around one leg. “It’d make more sense than a group of United States soldiers not only betraying their country, but getting back into it without anyone noticing.” Rene nodded, admitting her point.

“See if you can track down anyone from the division,” Oliver ordered. “It seems unlikely they’re mixed up with Chase, but at this point, we can’t say that for certain. It seems unlikely there will be another attack tonight, there was a lot of preparation behind that one, they couldn’t pull another one off so quickly.”

“So you want us all on patrol or…?” Rene left the question hanging, and Oliver shook his head.

“With the decrease in crime, and the increase in anti-vigilantism, it’d be best to take tonight off, everyone get some rest but be ready to report in if the alarms go off.” The alarm system was automatic, and didn’t require anyone to stay and watch it. There was a collective sigh of relief from several people in the lair.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I am really liking this whole broken rib thing,” Curtis commented, there was muffled agreement from Evelyn and Rene and Oliver frowned at all of them.

“We will get back to the usual patrols and training,” he said. “Just…for now, it’s not worth getting arrested while making rounds of the city. Felicity flapped her hand at Curtis, muttering something to him and shooing him away, obviously insisting she could finish up the work. As the others prepared to leave, Oliver turned, intending to go back to his apartment, and Slade followed him. He waited until the elevator doors shut before speaking.

“Headed back home?” He asked. Oliver doubted he ever really get used to this type of normal conversation they could have now.

“Maybe, I don’t know if that’s the best choice though,” he said honestly, at Slade’s questioning look, he explained. “I think Chase has surveillance mapping out the place, he left a message in there last night.” Immediately, Slade’s brow furrowed at the news.

“He was in your apartment?” he demanded, eyes darkening, Oliver immediately hastened to reassure him, or at least add some logic to the matter before Slade decided to try to fix matters. “Was _that_ why you didn’t sleep?”

“He already knew where I lived, that was obvious. I seriously doubt he could attempt anything. This is just a precaution.” Oliver insisted firmly. Slade looked doubtful. “Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t know where I work, there’s really no point in trying to hide.”

“I’m not suggesting that,” the Australian answered gruffly. The elevator doors opened and they stepped off onto the main floor. They walked towards the car, Slade not speaking and staring fixatedly at a point ahead, seeming to be wrapped up in his thoughts. Finally, when they stood by the car, he asked the question. “Do you want to stay at the safe house for now?” His voice was quick and clipped, almost sheepish if Oliver didn’t know better. Like the _thanks_ he had uttered after the archer had dug a bullet out of his arm.

“I don’t want to make it harder for you,” Oliver replied at once.

“You’re not.” Slade’s answer was just as quick, and the honesty it held stopped any further polite decline Oliver was prepared to make. He blinked, then nodded.

“Thanks, that’d be great. I just need to grab some things; I’ll meet you there.” He hoped Slade wouldn’t offer to drive, and the Australian seemed to pick up on that, nodding once and stepping into the car. It wasn’t that Oliver wanted to avoid Slade, but the conversation had left an awkward feeling, starting from Slade’s rushed question to Oliver forgetting his cordial replies, he didn’t want to continue that stilted discomfort. He didn’t really know where it came from, either, but didn’t give the matter much thought.

He was halfway to his bike when John caught up with him. “Hey Oliver, you have a minute?” he stopped, turning to face Diggle, not knowing what the man wanted. He suspected it had something to do with the information Felicity was trying to trace. He was wrong.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” something in John’s posture should have alerted him to the conversation ahead. He looked uncomfortable, and almost nervous.

“Wilson,” John started. Oliver felt his stomach clench, guessing now where this was headed. “He was the one, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean, John,” Oliver said and started back towards his bike. Diggle didn’t give up, walking after him in long strides and easily catching up. He stepped in front of the archer, blocking his path.

“You said you knew him on the island,” John continued, unrelenting. He seemed to regret bringing up the topic, but there was no sign he was about to let it drop, like Oliver so frantically wished he would. “He was the one who was injected, wasn’t he?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver said waspishly.

“Oliver, I’m asking you for the truth, you’re the one who’s turning it into something else,” John’s stated, and Oliver knew he was right. He clenched his fists loosely, lost for words and struggling to find a response. He didn’t know how to make John see. “I just want to know, if that man is the reason you were afraid of the serum, the one who triggered every reaction you had, why do you think you can trust him? What makes you think he isn’t with Chase and just biding his time?” He wasn’t prepared for the question, mostly because he had never answered it to himself. Oliver shook his head, looking away.

Two years. He had known Slade for two years. He had thought him dead for eight. So why were some things so easy to fall back to? And why were others such an awkward dance? John folded his arms across his chest, staring at Oliver as he waited for an answer, but Oliver, for the life of him, didn’t know what to say.

“He never lied to me, John,” he was aware of how quiet his voice was. “Things happened, went wrong…but he never tried to hide the truth.” John looked as though he was about to interject something, but Oliver carried on, voice rising to a normal, louder volume. “After everything that happened, he had no commitment to come back. He could have left, completely. But he didn’t He was on the one who brought the same from Blood’s stash, he pulled me out of Chase’s prison, and frankly he has continued to do more than I ever had the right to ask him to.”

“So that’s what it comes down to,” John challenged. “You think you owe him; you’re indebted to him?”

“Yes!” It was such an absurd statement, that Oliver didn’t bother to fight down the exclamation that burst out of him in response. “Even before all this, he trained me, he has saved my life more times than I could ever count. But this isn’t about _owing_ Slade anything. This is about the fact that on the island he was an ally, a friend, the closest thing to safety I had. The way things ended wasn’t right, it wasn’t _his_ fault-”

“And I guess you’re going to now claim it was all yours?”

“I shoved a goddamn arrow through his eye, John,” Oliver snapped. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that a lot of that was my fault.” Diggle was taken aback, the verbal barb both unexpected and harsh, opening a whole different level of questions. Oliver, however, was done with questions. “This isn’t open for discussion. He’s healed.”

“So that’s it then, you’re just going to let this guy run around the city behind you and hope he doesn’t cause any trouble. You don’t think that maybe, possibly, you’re blind siding yourself because _you_ want him to be better?” John didn’t let Oliver end the conversation there. “You know what Roy was like on that stuff, someone who’s been on it for so many more years is going to be worse.”

 “He’s not the one we need to be worrying about, John. Please don’t make this more difficult, Chase is causing enough problems as it is, we need a united front.”

“That front would be a lot more united if you were honest once in a while.”

Oliver left.

**XxxX**

“What’s wrong?” the words were out of Slade’s mouth the second he opened the door to see Oliver standing just outside, wearing a tight expression. The archer shook his head, trying to pass off the question and Slade stepped aside, allowing him room to enter. Oliver moved past, his gaze passing over the apartment.

“John and I had a talk,” he didn’t meet Slade’s gaze, and it took the Australian only a moment to guess just what that ‘talk’ had been about. “Is Evelyn still staying with you?” She wasn’t present, the small apartment empty aside from the two of them. Her black duffel, however, still sat next to the couch.

“She knows she can stay here, but she’s out now,” Slade replied, then nodded to the small table. “D’you want to talk about this?” The archer hesitated, then nodded, setting his small pack aside and pulling out a chair. Slade sat across from him as Oliver rested his elbows on the table, staring down at the wood. He looked tired.

“He figured it out,” the four words were quiet but clear, and Slade didn’t reply, giving Oliver the opportunity to say what he needed to say. He didn’t know where this was going, but he knew the man’s reaction hadn’t been good, or else Oliver wouldn’t be avoiding his gaze completely, his fingers rubbing together in a subconscious tic. “I don’t know how, but he did.” He seemed stuck on that point, and Slade had to verbally urge him on.

“I take it he’s not happy.” He didn’t mean for his prompt to be so sarcastic. John Diggle was obviously a close friend of Oliver’s. Every time Slade had visited the city to check up on Oliver, he had been there. It was only logical that he would want to make sure Oliver was safe.

“Well yeah, I didn’t tell them the whole story but during Blood’s attack I had-” Oliver stopped, the words seeming to die on his still parted lips. “I told them I know someone who had been injected. And somehow John just figured it out. He doesn’t trust you.” He said bluntly. “And he doesn’t think you should be involved.” His eyes flickered up, seemingly searching for a reaction, and Slade merely shrugged. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“He has every right to be suspicious,” he answered honestly. Oliver didn’t have a response for that, but he didn’t seem to like it. Slade caught his gaze. “Do you want me involved?” he asked quietly. The archer frowned at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean? John has his own opinion I’m not-” Slade had to cut him off, Oliver immediately assuming the worse.

“It’s your decision, if you want me to stay, I will, I can deal with the consequences. If you agree with your friend Diggle-”

“I don’t.”

“Then I’ll leave.” Slade finished, ignoring the interruption. Oliver stared at him for a long moment, seeming to mull over what he had said.

“I’ve said it before, Slade, I trust you.” He started, and the Australian tipped his head, pressing him for a response to his statement. “I don’t want you to leave. I know things are tricky. Your situation with the Mirakuru can’t just be ignored, a lot happened that’s still hard to get past but I don’t…” Oliver looked away again. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I don’t think there’s ever going to be a point where I would feel forgiven for everything I did,” he forestalled Oliver’s obvious response by holding up a hand. “There’s nothing I could do that would make up for it, and now I don’t think that’s what I’m trying. Things should have been different after Lian Yu, I should have had your back, been there if you needed it, obviously that didn’t happen.”

“I think we both need to let all that go,” Oliver stated. “We both did horrible things.”

“You were trying to stay alive.”

“I should have stood by you, I should have given you the cure. But I can’t take that back, the past eight years aren’t changing, and we both need to accept that. We need a new start, to let go off all the past hurts.”

“Can’t really forget all that, kid,” Slade said gruffly.

“I’m not saying we should, there were good moments, after all, a lot of them. I’m saying we need to wipe the slate clean. You don’t have anything to make up for, Slade.” Oliver’s tone was so genuine, it took Slade a moment to formulate a response. “You need to let go all that guilt.” Slade raised an eyebrow and he relented. “And I guess that means I have to let go of mine.”

“Damn straight.” There was a silence between them, but it was comfortable and relaxed. Slade felt better than he had in months, years, and it was just after a simple conversation. Oliver was the one to break it.

“So?”

“It’ll take work, kid,” Slade replied.

“Of course, it will, that’s not the point,” Oliver said.

“No, I guess it’s not,” there was silence again, then, feeling Oliver’s eyes still on him, Slade nodded. “But you’re right.”

“Should I take down the date?” the snarky response took him aback, and Slade shot Oliver a look. He was fairly certain his expression did little to quell the archer’s amusement. Slade stood, stepping around the table to open the fridge. He pulled out two bottles, popping off the caps and Oliver leaned back in his chair, reaching out to take the one Slade offered him. He came around the table again, and Oliver lifted his drink. “To starting over?” It was a moment before Slade responded, reaching partly across the table to clink the bottles together.

“To starting over.”

Once again, they dropped into a companionable quiet, like those they had so often back on the island. Neither felt the need to say anything, and the minutes ticked by comfortably. It was sometime later when there was a short knock on the front door. Slade and Oliver exchanged a confused look, and the formed stood, crossing to open it. Evelyn stood, a large box in hand.

“You have a key,” Slade reminded her. The girl nodded.

“Yeah but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to walk in on you hiding a body or something,” she replied casually, stepping around him. Her eyes fell on Oliver. “Oh! I didn’t know you where here. Well, I brought pizza.” She hefted the box in her hand and Oliver frowned questioningly.

“Let me ask you something,” he said seriously. “If I were to ask you where you were, would I be unhappy with the answer?” Slade, who had just closed the door again, turned, also waiting for the answer. Evelyn set the box down on the table.

“No. Probably not?” Oliver looked at Slade over her head.

“That sounds like a yes,” he said, the archer nodded.

“You know I have to agree,” Oliver said.

“But are you really asking though?” Evelyn pressed, snagging a piece of pizza and dropping into a chair.

“Kids these days,” Slade muttered humorously, and Oliver shook his head in mock agreement. Evelyn frowned at the both of them.

“The pizza and I will be leaving if this is the interrogation we get as a greeting,” she said and Oliver threw up both hands.

“I’m just saying, don’t get into trouble,” he told her, helping himself to the pizza.

“We’re vigilantes!” Evelyn objected.

“Understand it would be an absolute disaster if you started having the usual teenage problems,” Slade added, amused. Evelyn’s expression fell.

“But Chad and I were planning on getting married!”

“I’m sorry, what?” Oliver made an attempt to keep his voice calm and level, however, he had little success. Slade seemed to have the same struggle, as he had gone from a relaxed smile to suddenly stiff. Evelyn, on the other hand, was laughing so hard she could barely keep herself in the chair. Oliver shook his head at her, relieved. “That was not funny.”

“Your face!” Evelyn gasped out. Oliver looked towards Slade, exasperation on his features. The Australian shrugged.

“I'll still track down every Chad in this city," he stated, seemingly just as relieved as Oliver. The archer's phone rang suddenly, and he glanced down at the caller ID, standing.

"Slade, don't kill anyone just yet," he told him, then added to Evelyn. "It'll be a busy day tomorrow, make sure you get some rest." She nodded in acknowledgment and Oliver turned away. "Felicity, find anything?"

"Oliver you need to get down here right now," Felicity's voice was panicked. "It's John and Lyla, they're trapped underground."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is so overdue it was just creating its own civilization. Also, if you don't think I can bring in gay family drama ya dead wrong.


	19. Trapped Below

“Tell me what happened.”

They were upstairs, in the floor above the lair, the five of them gathered around Felicity and her desk. The elevator was completely down, and Felicity was unable to get it back online. She was typing furiously on her computer next to Curtis, blue eyes fixated on the screen in front of her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, responding to Oliver’s question without sparing him a glance. “An EMP blast, it fried the electrical circuit. John and I were the only two left in, Curtis had just gone home. Lyla came in, it seemed like she and John needed to talk so I left. But I forgot something, I went back to get it and I couldn’t get in.” She finally looked up, and Oliver could see the nervousness in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“The emergency exit is welded shut,” Slade materialled behind them, startling Curtis, Felicity, Dinah, and Rene. Evelyn seemed to be growing used to his sudden appearances. The Australian gave Oliver a look. “You should have a couple escape routes.” His voice might sound mild, but there was a gentle reproach underneath the words that Oliver didn’t miss. He conceded the point, tucking it away for future reference, it did little good to think about now.

“I’ll make sure some are installed after this,” he promised. He pressed a hand against his temples, racking his brains for any way to get down into the lair. “Can we cut through the elevator seal?” he suggested. Felicity looked hesitant, but Rene jumped on the idea.

“I can get the supplies,” he offered immediately. Oliver nodded in response. It was the best start they had thus far. Dinah straightened as Rene left, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

“I’m on the late shift,” she said, tone soft. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground, if anything turns up I’ll call.” She was apologetic to leave so abruptly, that much was obvious, but there was little she could do even if she stayed. Oliver waved aside her remorse.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “You can do more there.” Dinah nodded, the agreement all she needed. She exited, leaving the rest of them to turn back to the computer screen, considering their options. “Cutting through the seal is the best idea we have yet,” Oliver said. “As soon as Rene gets back, Curtis, I need you to help him with that.”

**XxxX**

Lights sparked around them, and John tried to shake off the ringing in his ears. He felt disoriented, the entire world tilted on its side. It took him a moment to realize that was due to the fact he was lying down. He must have been unconscious for a few minutes at least, because the last thing he remembered was arguing with Lyla. Then, Felicity’s heartbeat tracker program had beeped and when they had looked at the screen, it had shown Chase was there. There were sparks, he remembered pulling Lyla back-

Lyla.

John barely even registered what the darkness meant as he pushed himself up, ignoring the pain in his body and the buzzing in his ears in favor of looking around him, manner bordering on frantic. “Lyla,” he called out, barely remembering to keep his voice down in case Chase was there. “Lyla,” he saw a pair of legs a few feet away and his heart thumped in his chest. “Lyla,” he stumbled over.

“Johnny…” it concerned him most that she sounded dazed, her voice not sharp or attentive. He reached her to see one of the shelves of weaponry had fallen down onto her. It shouldn’t have been heavy enough to do damage. Worriedly, he moved it aside, almost freezing at her low groan of pain.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked. She moved herself to sit up, glancing down at her body and nodding.

“Nothing serious,” Lyla replied. “But Chase, he’s down here.” Diggle nodded grimly, reaching over to collect an assault rifle, checking the chamber before tucking it up to his shoulder.

“I’ll look around,” he warned her. A moment later, the click of a gun told him she had armed herself as well. He moved slowly around the lair, weapon proceeding all of his movements. There was no sign of anyone else. “Well,” he said, turning back to Lyla who had pushed herself upright. “If he is here, he’s not on this level.” In an instant, he was back by her side. “There was an explosion, but minimal damage.”

“An EMP blast,” she replied grimly. “Everything on an electric circuit has been fried.” Lyla pushed herself up, using the toppled shelf to brace herself and stand. John heard her exclamation of pain and was barely in time to keep her from falling again. Sitting her back down gently and kneeling to look at her leg. “It’s my ankle,” she admitted, wincing as his fingers pressed into it.

“Looks like a break,” John announced, straightening. “You’ll need to keep your weight off of it.”

“We need to get out of here, Johnny,” Lyla told him. “That’s a priority, I can walk on it if necessary.” She watched her husband in confusion as he walked around the room, looking behind shelves and in alcoves. “And what are you doing?”

“Before that implant Felicity had a chair down here,” Diggle explained. “I don’t think we ever took it out.” He could see her expression. “It’ll give you mobility, at least.” He finally located the object and unfolded it. With his help, Lyla shifted herself to it, keeping the semi-automatic tucked by her side. Only once she was settled did he move away. “The elevator’s down,” he reported. “And emergency exit is sealed shut.”

“I’m almost impressed,” she commented dryly. Diggle gave a huff of frustration. It was the wrong time for any of this. He couldn’t shake off the idea that they were losing this battle. Despite the friendliness in their team now, despite their unity, he felt they were on the brink of being horribly divided. And top of that, Oliver had just, for what felt like the thousandth time, pulled away, isolating himself. And this time, Slade Wilson was thrown into the problem. Slade Wilson, the abrupt, unfamiliar figure who had come out the woodwork without warning. Who Oliver had just accepted into his life as if it was the most natural thing.

_I shoved a goddamn arrow through his eye._

What had happened between the two of them? By this point, Diggle was almost too afraid to ask. He pushed the thoughts aside, turning back to the predicament they were facing. They needed to find a way out, because knowing Chase, his plan wasn’t just to trap them temporarily. They moved on to the garage, looking for a way, any way, out. It was Lyla’s idea to use the motorcycle.

**XxxX**

The explosion had nearly killed Rene and left them all a little shook. Rene got over the experience quickly, he and Evelyn commandeered Felicity’s computer to open the building blueprints and poured over them. As much as he tried to focus on the problem, Oliver found his thoughts drifting back to Chase. He knew the man had some motive behind it. He wasn’t the only one to think such things.

“There has to be some reason behind this,” Slade commented, his arms crossed across his chest, eye fixed on the screen as Rene and Evelyn scrolled through the blueprings.

“I know,” Oliver replied. “I just hope we figure out what it is before it’s too late. It’s not like we have a choice, we can’t just let them stay down there while we try to track down Chase.”

“Oliver they can’t stay down there for much longer,” Felicity’s tight voice cut in to their conversation, she played with her fingers absentmindedly. “That explosion was caused by methane gas that ignited when Rene tried to cut through the elevator. A pipe must have burst.”

**XxxX**

“We can use the ventilation,” Lyla’s voice cut through the thick fog in John’s mind as he pushed himself up blearily, shaking away the grogginess. Confused, he looked towards his wife, not understanding. “There’s a shaft that connects to the offices upstairs, it’s their primary circulation point.”

“If that’s blocked, we won’t last a minute,” John pointed out. Lyla shot him a look.

“How much longer will we last here?” she pointed out. Diggle admitted her point, pushing himself up with some difficulty. His head pounded, and he could barely see straight. He had taken several small explosives from Oliver’s arrowheads, but as of yet, they had not attempted to use them. It was far too dangerous.

“Got a map?” he grunted out. She nodded, pointing towards the blueprints laid out.

“The only suitable entrance is in the back room.” Lyla said, she seemed to notice Diggle’s glance towards her ankle because her next words were a little terse. “I can walk, Johnny, I’ll be fine.” He knew better than to argue, they didn’t have enough time. Instead, he leant her some support as she stood, leading the way to the ventilation opening. It was four feet off the ground and narrow enough to make Diggle know it would be difficult. Getting stuck in an air vent wasn’t the way he hoped to die.

Lyla went first, flashlight in hand as she pulled her body forward. John waited a few seconds before boosting himself in after her, shoulders squeezing through. He stayed close behind her, noises strangely magnified in their tight enclosure.

The drop was sudden, neither of them really prepared. Lyla gave a noise between a shout and a gasp as her hand landed on nothing and she pitched forward. Instinctively, John’s hands snapped forward to grab onto her legs.

“It’s alright,” she reassured him. “It opens into some sort of walk way, the bottoms not even two feet down.” Cautiously, he let go and she slid around to drop through. John’s own exit was less graceful. Still barely managing to squeeze through, he resorted to pitching forward, hands stopping him from faceplanting the floor.

He groaned as he rolled to his feet, rotating his shoulders to get rid of some of the stiffness. He was fairly certain Lyla was struggling not to smile. “Soon as we get out, there’s going to be another emergency exit in this place if I have to cut through the wall myself.” He muttered. “Where next.” She gestured down the narrow walkway and they moved on, steps loud in the silence.

**XxxX**

“Methane gas?” Curtis repeated, his fearful expression mirroring Felicity. The blonde responded with a short nod. “That’s poisonous!” The panicked addition mostly seemed for Rene and Evelyn’s benefit, the two of them not understanding Felicity’s concern. Before anyone could say more, Oliver phone went off, and seeing who it was, he answered.

“Hydrochloric acid,” Dinah skipped over any cordial greetings.

“What?”

“I went undercover with a gang of safebreakers, hydrochloric acid will eat through the elevator and let us in, I’m on my way with some now.” He could hear the sounds of traffic behind her. “I’ll be there in twenty.” The phone clicked, and Oliver set it back into his pocket.

“Dinah has hydrochloric acid that she says will work,” he relayed. “She’s on her way, but she won’t be here in time. We need to buy John and Lyla more time.”

“They’ll probably go into the air ducts to try to get out,” Evelyn offered. “It’d be the most logical escape.”

“Chase would have sealed those,” Rene argued. “They’re not dumb enough to climb into a metal box and trap themselves.”

“It’d be easier to cut through the ventilation than through the bunker doors,” Oliver remarked. “On top of that, the ventilation has filters against poisonous gas over the vents, John knows that.” The filters had been targeted to gas coming _out_ of the vents, not in, but Oliver hoped they’d still be preventive.

“Won’t those be down with everything else?” Curtis asked, and the archer’s hope dropped, of course it would be, what was he thinking.

“It’s still a likely route,” Slade said, and everyone glanced towards him. “Where do the shafts lead?” Rene and Evelyn turned back to the blueprints, the former following the ventilation with the cursor.

“It just drops off,” he said, incredulous. “Here, it ends.”

“That can’t be right,” Evelyn took over, flipping through the prints so quickly, it was almost impossible to follow her progress. “Yeah, here!” she stopped abruptly, hovering the cursor over a point. “It connects to a smaller shaft that comes up outside.”

“Chase will have sealed that, and it’s too small for either of them to get through,” Rene argued. “Even if we got it opened, it wouldn’t be enough air, it’s too far away.” Evelyn looked towards Oliver, and reluctantly he nodded.

“He’s right, if the T-Spheres hadn’t been blown, we might have been able to send them down with gas masks. But that’s not an option.” The shaft had intentionally been made too small for an adult to pass through, and now Oliver was cursing his own paranoia.

“We have gas masks?” Curtis asked. Oliver gestured towards the wall on the other side of the room, not turning.

“I had an emergency compartment installed,” he replied, seeing the immediately flare of hope, he quickly added; “There’s nothing in there that would help, it’s defensive equipment, a couple basic weapons.”

“How many masks are in there?” Evelyn asked.

“Six,” Oliver answered cautiously, watching her. She was focused on something, her eyes on the screen, expression thoughtful.

“I can get through there.” He should have known it would be something like that. “I can fit through the vent carrying a couple masks for them and wearing one. It’d buy us a little more time.” His first instinct was to say no, it was incredibly dangerous, anything could go wrong. “I’d just need a way to get in.”

“I can open the end of the vent,” Slade stated quietly. He was looking towards Oliver, waiting, the archer realized with a start, for his permission. It was a strange feeling, and one he wasn’t used to. The Australian approved of the idea, and Oliver found that weighed his decision greatly. He hesitated.

“You’ll be going into a gas chamber,” he warned her. Evelyn shrugged.

“They’re already in one,” she came back, and there really wasn’t a response to that. Felicity looked tense, and he could tell she didn’t agree with the idea. Rene and Curtis clearly didn’t like it, but from the way they kept their peace, waiting for Oliver decision, he could tell they didn’t exactly disagree.

“Okay.” He nodded decisively. “It’s not ideal but Evelyn’s right, it’ll buy us some time.”

“And maybe get her killed,” Felicity objected.

“Then I guess that’s my choice, right?” Evelyn asked. She turned back to Oliver. “Although on second thought, I might need a flashlight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another one of those just get it over with chapters that I feel bad about...


End file.
